


The Man From S.H.I.E.L.D

by spacebuck



Category: Captain America, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Alternate Universe - The Man From U.N.C.L.E, Anal Sex, Bucky's a little shit, Canonical Character Death, Car Chases, Dubious Science, Explicit Consent, Forehead Touches, Love Declarations, M/M, Mentions of het, Mentions of homophobia, Minor Character Death, Mugging, NaNoWriMo, Oral Sex, Rimming, Steve Has Issues, Wall Sex, acceptance of death, alcohol use, bottom!Steve, bucky 'pretends to not be touched but really is' barnes, bucky has a competency kink, bucky has a language kink, bucky has a lot of kinks it seems, bucky overthinks things, drugging of a character - only in c8, graphic violence tag only applicable to c8, implied adultery, mentions of tpast human/animal torture - only in c8, minor feminisation, minor movie-compliant violence, non-fatal drowning, not a pleasant one either, see chapter notes for more info, steve 'i'd burn the world down to keep you safe' rogers, stucky hug, torture - electrocution - only in c8, unprotected sex (in committed relationship), zola is disgusting holy hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2016-04-12
Packaged: 2018-04-29 13:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebuck/pseuds/spacebuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the height of the Cold War, a mysterious criminal organization plans to use nuclear weapons and technology to upset the fragile balance of power between the United States and Soviet Union. CIA agent James Barnes and KGB agent Steve Rogers are forced to put aside their hostilities and work together to stop the evildoers in their tracks. The duo's only lead is the daughter of a missing German scientist, whom they must find soon to prevent a global catastrophe.</p><p>(or, the 'The Man From U.N.C.L.E' au that nobody asked for)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> alright, here we go! this is based heavily off the movie, for the majority of the fic, though it's 90% from bucky's perspective so i've had to mix things up
> 
> tags will update as i post the chapters
> 
> any steggy is literally just the implied stuff from the movie, this is a stucky fic. any questions, or tagging requests, please contact me! my tumblr is in the end notes

**Berlin, Checkpoint Charlie, 1963.**

 

James Barnes approached the military checkpoint with his business smile in place, each step measured, precise. He counted the guards off in his head out of habit – three behind, two in the booth itself, four on either side of the checkpoint. American soldiers, barely paying attention to him as he approached. Just the way he liked it. Someone, however, was paying too much attention to him. And it wasn’t one of the soldiers.

 

                Suitcase in hand, he fell into line at the booth. Sunglasses giving the illusion of him looking ahead, he scanned the area again, trying to find the source of the gaze he could _feel_ , itching at the back of his neck. James stepped forward when he was called, removing his sunglasses and setting his suitcase on the bench, opening it and presenting it to the guard with a polite smile.

 

                “Passport,” The guard requested, and James handed it over, answering the identification questions as the man checked his paperwork, before giving his bag a cursory inspection.

 

                James tilted his head, turning slightly, and heard the rustle of a newspaper being folded. Movement caught his attention, reflected in the camera flash on the desk. A man, blond hair, tall, stood from his seat across the road, heading away from the checkpoint. James watched him for a moment, before turning back to the guard, accepting his papers back, tucking them in his jacket pocket again before taking his suitcase.

 

                James strode through the checkpoint without looking back, sliding into a taxi on the other side with a smile. He held out his map, pointing at the street name he was headed to, and the cabbie nodded, starting the car. They headed off, and James settled back in the back seat, suitcase carefully tucked between his feet.

 

                The drive was short, maybe ten minutes at most, and James paid little attention to the streets as they passed. Berlin was Berlin, and it looked the same on either side of the wall. Most people still spoke German, no matter who was in charge, and they went about their daily lives without care for who was in charge. A flash of blond on a tall man caught his eye as they sped past, and James jerked around, staring out the back window, searching the street for the person it belonged to. He didn’t see anything, and frowned slightly, cautiously settling back against the seat.

 

                “ _Everything alright?_ ” The cabbie broke the silence, his German crisp and clear, carefully enunciated. Easier for tourists, James supposed.

 

                “ _Yes, it’s fine. Thought I saw someone I knew,_ ” James replied in perfect, if accented, German, eyes still narrowed. “ _Must have been mistaken_ ,” he sighed, before glancing at the street name as they passed.

 

                “ _Here’s fine,_ ” he said after a moment, smile back in place, and the cab pulled over smoothly.

 

                “ _You’re sure?_ ” the man asked, looking around the empty neighbourhood with more than just a touch of concern. James smiled, leaned forward slightly, and placed a hand on the man’s arm in reassurance.

 

                “ _I’m sure. How much do I owe you?_ ”

 

                James waited until the cab pulled away to head into the path, following it under the road, then back up the stairs. Another man brushed past him, pressing a brown paper bag into his hand. James’ mouth twitched, and he fought a smile. Simple, effective, discreet. Sometimes, the C.I.A actually managed to fit the bill. Down the street, he ducked into another cab, gave the address of a small mechanic.

 

                “ _Best mechanic around,_ ” He said with a smile, waiting until the driver was focused on the road again. “ _Wouldn’t want anyone else working on my baby, and the wall isn’t going to prevent that._ ” The cabbie laughed, agreed, and James used the sound of laughter to mask the noise of paper. He checked inside the small bag, making sure everything he needed was in there, then settled back again, running over his plan in his head.

 

                Peggy Carter worked in a small repair store, a chop shop really, in one of the poorer districts of East Berlin. A stunning mechanic really, and a stunning woman to boot if the pictures did her any justice, but that wasn’t _why_ James was interested in her. No, Miss Carter had connections, family ones, and that made her rather important to James’ employers. Abandoned by her father at four, she hadn’t maintained contact, or her relationship, with the man, but she and her paternal uncle had remained close.

 

                The mission wasn’t her, no, but she provided a link to her missing birth father. A link James had been sent to exploit.

 

                James felt the car start to slow, tuned back in to his surroundings as they pulled to a stop outside the shop. The lights were still on, and soft music crackled out of one of the radios despite the late hour, and James smiled. That made things easier, especially if Carter herself was still on site. He paid the cabbie, slid out of the car, and headed for the shop with a parting wave to the car pulling away.

 

                James walked into the shop like he owned it, shifting past half-build cars and weaving through the shelves full of machine parts. The sound of a wrench led him to the back area, where an absolute beauty of a car waited, hood up. A pair of legs stuck out from under the car, shapely under the coveralls protecting them, and one foot tapped the air along with the faint music. He leaned forward, taking advantage of the hood being up to scan the engine with interest.

 

                “ _I always thought the original engine was underpowered for the design,_ ” he said conversationally, lips twitching in amusement as the foot stopped tapping for a moment, before resuming. Setting his suitcase on the ground, he tucked his hands in his pockets, careful of the material. “ _This looks like quite the upgrade._ ”

 

                James leaned forward, reaching out with his right hand to shift the fuel injection lines, eyes running over the engine with interest. “ _Stick wings on her and you’d need a runway._ ”

 

                He glanced at his hand, grimacing slightly at the grease on it, and glanced down, spotting a grease rag resting over one of the legs still partly under the car. He swiped it, rubbed his fingers clean on it, and then held it out as the woman finally emerged.

 

                “ _Your accent is pretty good, for an American_ ,” she commented, and James got his first look at the woman that was Miss Peggy Carter.

 

                She was beautiful, just as the pictures had indicated, but they hadn’t shown the intelligent gleam in her eye, or the faint purse to her lips that signalled more than just mild annoyance. They definitely hadn’t indicated that this woman was an absolute spitfire, and yet James could pick that out within seconds of meeting her.

 

                She reached up, snagged the rag from his hand, and stared at him for a moment, before reverting to English. So she was observant too, James figured. “You look important,” a pause, and James could almost see the smirk she was trying to hide. “Or at least, your suit does.” She disappeared back under the car and James fought a laugh. It had been less than a minute. He _liked_ this woman. It was almost worth being pulled off the mission in Bucharest to trade words with her.

 

                “Well, I can get you over the wall,” James began, once he had control of his voice again, making himself sound as dispassionate as possible. Bland. His words were enough on their own to garner her attention again.

 

                “Would you consider that important, Fräulein Carter?”

 

                “A smart mouth to go with the suit. Statements like that could get you into a lot of trouble around here,” Peggy deadpanned as she kept working, refusing to look at him again.

 

                “Or,” James continued, moving around the small desk and rifling through the papers scattered over it, looking for something all mechanics should have. He assumed Miss Carter would be no different. He paused, lifting a stack of receipts, and he internally grinned when he found a stack of weathered photos. “They could get you out of it.” He flicked through the photos, scanning the figures. Peggy featured in many, smiling, with her adopted family, posing with her friends, but one caught his eye – a photo of her with a stout man, his arm around her waist, her arm over his shoulders. They were smiling at the camera, and they looked like they had been in deep conversation before their attention had been grabbed for a photo.

 

                This was the man James was looking for, at least at the moment.

 

                The noise of the wrench stopped, and Peggy appeared again, sitting up and wiping her hands on the rag as she regarded him. “Make yourself at home why don’t you,” She drawled, eyes flitting over him, and the photos in his hand, before she pushed to her feet, kicking the roller platform towards the car, out of the way. James waited for her to speak, ignoring the look she was giving him as he peered at other photos lined up along the desk top.

 

                “Alright, Mister Important Suit, who are you and what do you want,” she said finally, setting her tools away in their proper places before turning to face him, hands on her hips.

 

                “I’m looking for your father,” James said without preamble, dropping into the chair and setting his suitcase on the desk.

 

                “Well I’m afraid you’re a bit late for that, he died two years ago,” she responded turning back to the car as if expecting that to be the end of it.

 

                “I don’t mean your late adopted father, Miss Carter. I mean your real father. Doctor Abraham Erskine. Hitler’s favourite scientist.”

 

                That got an interesting response. Peggy froze, fingers clenching on the edge of the bonnet for a moment, and James heard her breath catch. “That doesn’t sound very friendly.” There was a pause, and James shrugged, not bothering to respond. He just waited for her to continue. “Good luck with that,” she said finally, closing the bonnet with a firm thud, pressing down on it until it clicked shut. “I haven’t spoken to him in eighteen years.”

 

                “After the war ended, he came to us. Operation Paperclip, as it was known,” James said easily, reaching for his suitcase and clicking it open. “The American nuclear program could use bright minds like him. He had a nice house in the suburbs, a steady job, he got along great with his neighbours. Adopted a miniature poodle, named her Elise.” James fed her that bit of information, knowing full well that was the name of Peggy’s late mother, who had died not long before Erskine had up and left. She’d been a Carter, and Peggy had obviously chosen to take her maiden name rather than be associated with the man who had abandoned her. She visibly tensed, but didn't react any further, so he continued.

 

                James looked through the contents of his bag, sighed, and flipped it, reopening it and uttering a soft _hah_ , when he found what he was looking for. Withdrawing the photo, he paused, noting something that _shouldn’t_ be in his bag. He looked back at Peggy after a moment, leaning forward and showing her the photo. “Then, he up and vanished two years ago, smoke in the wind. We haven’t heard from him since.” He set the photo on the table, pulled out the small bit of tech that was sitting on top of a neatly folded shirt. He rolled it between his fingers, thinking back, and sighed, realising that it must have been slipped in at the checkpoint. It was the only time someone else had handled his bag.

 

                “Not, until now, that is.” He continued after a moment, nudging the photo closer to her. “This was taken a week ago, in Rome. Your father is the man behind the car, here,” James pointed to the man in question, a wizened looking man with a shock of hair and a gentle face. Odd looking for a nuclear scientist, if he was honest, but he’d never admit that. Either the thought, or to being honest.

 

                “I’m told, if your father’s knowledge gets into the wrong hands, things could get a little … messy.” James took the photo back, eyes on Peggy as she moved across the small area.

 

                “Oh, you’re told are you? Just a lackey, I see.” She scoffed, and James could almost picture her eyes rolling.

 

                “Not a lackey, Miss Carter, but neither am I a nuclear scientist. But, a nuclear weapon in the hands of the unsavoury types that probably have your father would be bad. End of the world, bad.”

 

                “What makes you think I can help you find him?”

 

                James leaned forward slightly and resting his elbows on his knees. “We’re not expecting you to be able to tell us where he is. But, you can help us find someone who _will_ be able to.”

 

                She glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow as if asking _oh, and who might that be?_

 

                “Your dear old Uncle Zola. Your father’s brother. I’ve also been told,” James narrowed his eyes, dropping the small bit of tech in the half-empty cup of cold coffee and standing, buttoning his jacket. “That your father wasn’t _actually_ a Nazi. He was forced to work for them. That makes us believe foul play is involved.”

 

                James tucked his hands in his pockets again, subtly checking that his gloves were still on. “So, I’m here to help. If we’d had fifteen minutes we could have done this properly – sit down with tea and biscuits, I talk, you laugh, I get what I need and we go our separate ways. But, we don’t. So your options are these.” Dropping his chin slightly, he met the gaze of the smaller woman, who stared back defiantly. “Come with me, we’ll stay at a chic little hotel in West Berlin in less than an hour, or, stay here and meet the Russians,” James pointed out the small window, to where the blond man from the checkpoint was standing, talking with uniformed men. “And spend some time hanging from a pipe getting your toenails removed- that is what I was looking for.” James stepped past Peggy, unclipping the map of the surrounding area from the poster board and scanning it, before folding it neatly.

 

                Pulling a pen out of his breast pocket, James pointed it at Peggy, who was watching him carefully, almost like one would watch a wild animal, which highly amused him. “Would you mind _terribly_ if I borrowed your car?”

 

                Peggy stared at him for a moment, as if trying to work out the reason for the sudden topic change, before sighing, nodding. “I guess I don’t really have a choice in the matter,” She said with a small frown. “Do _not_ scuff my seats.”

 

                James tipped his head slightly, giving her a look that said _do you really expect me to?_ before grabbing his suitcase again and heading for the car.

 

                “Just follow my directions,” he said as he stuck his suitcase in the front passenger seat, then slid into the bench seat in the back. He lay down, head just behind the driver’s seat, as Peggy got in after opening the garage door, and made an appreciative noise when the car started up.

 

                Uncapping the pen, he craned his neck and started to plot a route, saying conversationally, “Are they still following us?”

 

                “Yes,” Peggy said carefully as they pulled to a stop, and James sighed, patted his pockets, before reaching out with a foot and unrolling the window opposite him.

 

                “Could you pass me the brown paper bag in my suitcase please,” he requested softly, and accepted it as he heard another car pull up beside them at the intersection. “Eyes ahead, is there only one of them in the car?” Peggy went to open her mouth, and he added, “Just hum if there are.”

 

                She hummed softly, and he frowned. Probably the blond, he decided. “Is he looking at us?” She hummed again. “Does he only have one hand on the steering wheel?” There was a pause, and James sighed, screwed the silencer on the small pistol. “When you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive,” he said calmly.

 

                There was a moment of tense silence. James checked his gun one last time, and plotted the trajectory, focusing on the roof of the car next to them.

 

                He sat up swiftly, gun at the ready, and fired two shots through the window at where the driver’s head should be. James fell back as the car took off, then pushed himself upright again, quickly checking his pistol over. He bumped the safety on and tucked it in his pocket, before grabbing the map again.

 

                “Did you get him?” Peggy sounded only mildly alarmed, and James took that as a good thing. A freakout on her part would make this whole thing that much more difficult.

 

                “Let’s hope he doesn’t drive as fast as he moves,” he said by way of answering, picking up the map as he did. James scanned his route again, before looking up in surprise as Peggy spoke again.

 

                “Well I’ve got news for you,” she started, and James swore internally, knowing exactly what she was going to say next. “He does.”

 

                James gritted his teeth, placed their location on the map, and said “Turn right,” instead of answering as the other car pulled alongside them. He braced his foot against the door, swaying as Peggy yanked the wheel. “Then an immediate left,” he added, and they slid, tyres squealing against the asphalt as they turned again, the other car in synch with them. She was really a talented driver, James noted as they sped down the street. That was proven when he heard the crank of the handbrake, and the two cars spun, just shy of touching each other, before lining back up. Peggy shunted closer to the other car, and it moved to compensate, then she yanked back, just as a fence appeared between them, and they were separated.

 

                “Nicely done,” James said with a nod, before adding, “Right, here.” He opened his mouth again, but Peggy cut him off, her words making him lean against the door and brace his hand on the opposite seat.

 

                “Hold on.”

 

                The creak of the handbrake sounded again, and they spun, coming to a stop between two cars on the other side of the street. He reached out a hand, pushed Peggy slightly to get her to lie prone, and did so himself, barely breathing in the quiet. The small car pursuing them shot past, and James made an approving noise.

 

                “Is he gone?” Peggy sounded hopeful.

 

                James hummed slightly, straightening as he said, “Y’know, I don’t think so.” He scanned the map again, before tucking it between the front seats, sliding out of the car. “Reverse down the sidewalk, and drive around the block.” He closed the door, looked at her, adding “and meet me back here,” with a raised eyebrow. At her nod, James pulled his pistol back out, thumbing the safety off, and headed for the sidewalk himself, hiding himself in the shadow of one of the other cars.

 

                There was the sound of a reversing car, and James stepped back slightly, pressing himself against the car behind him as Peggy started to move, squeezing down the narrow space as their pursuer pulled abreast. There was silence again, and then the pursuing car moved forward. James sighed, stepping out onto the road and raising his gun. Almost a shame, really. This guy was good.

 

                He fired once, paused, then fired again, and the car swerved, heading off the road and hitting a power pole, shuddering to a stop. James didn’t lower his weapon, watching for any sign of movement. After a minute, he stepped back, left hand still tucked in his pocket, and lowered the gun, hearing Peggy approach. He stepped back, then jerked out of the way as she nearly hit him, and he raised an eyebrow at her. When she simply raised one back, James sighed, sliding into the car and grabbing the map. Peggy started driving, and for a moment James thought they might actually not have any more problems, until he heard a gunshot. Instinctively ducking, James caught himself on the seat in front of him as the car shuddered and swayed, and he swore under his breath. _Asshole shot the tire out, of course he did._

 

                James glanced back, seeing the blond man take off running after them, and swore again, fingers clutching the seat as Peggy wrangled the car back into shape and turned in the direction he had been in the middle of indicating.

 

                “I think you should look out the window,” Peggy said shortly, sounding just a little strained, and James raised an eyebrow, turning his head.

 

                A note of incredulity snuck into his voice as he watched the man run across the field beside them, coming right at their car. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

 

                He was catching up, the car struggling with a tyre missing, and he latched onto the boot, starting to tug back. “He’s trying. To stop the car.” James said, disbelieving.

 

                “Well, it’s _working_ ,” Peggy snapped, and James glanced at her, before looking back at the man. He was handsome, James realised as they passed under a street lamp, the light bringing their pursuer’s face into focus. In a classically _American_ way, he was handsome. Strong jaw, tense, pouty lips, tightened, bright eyes, narrowed. The shock of blond hair was falling into his face, and James had the odd _stupid_ urge to brush it out of the way. He ground his teeth, berating himself for the thought, as Peggy said, “Why don’t you _shoot him_?”

 

                “I dunno,” James replied smoothly, though he knew exactly why. “It just doesn’t seem like the _right_ thing to do.”

 

                There was a groan of metal, and James tensed, thinking that the man had _actually succeeded_ in stopping the car, before there was a pop, and the boot panel came clean off. The car shuddered, speeding up without the dragging weight, and James flinched slightly as the man tossed the now useless hunk of metal in their direction, falling behind again.

 

                James knew he wasn’t giving up though, and grabbed his map again, quickly tracing the route they had taken. “First left, immediate right,” he instructed, and the car slid sideways as Peggy yanked the wheel. He caught the sound of sirens and fought a grimace, leaning forward slightly as they headed down a swiftly narrowing alley.

 

                “This road isn’t going anywhere,” Peggy said, sounding confused, a little worried. Bucky mouthed the words back at her, knowing she wasn’t looking at him, then tapped his map again.

 

                “It’s taking us exactly where we need to go.”

 

                “It’s getting narrow-”

 

                “It’s all part of the plan,” James cut her off, settling in his seat and leaning back slightly, bracing his knee against the seat in front of him. “So put your foot down and drive a little faster.” This wasn’t going to work if she didn’t, so he _really_ hoped she had enough sense to-

 

                The car sped up, and he let out a relieved sigh. The ground dropped out from under them as the alley turned into stairs, and the car kept barrelling forward, walls closing in and dragging them to a stop just shy of the exit, suspended a few feet off the ground.

 

                “All part of the plan,” Peggy mocked, head tossing back slightly in annoyance as she caught sight of the wall in front of them. “Good plan, now all we have to do is get over two twenty foot walls and a _mine field_.” She sighed, rolling her head back slightly and looking over her shoulder, more than just a little mad. “Now what?” she snapped.

 

                James sighed, leaning forward, reaching across her and unwinding her window. When the squeaking stopped, he raised an eyebrow, and said “An immediate left, through the window,” pointing at the window in the alley wall, perfectly aligned with the car window.

 

                After a tense moment, Peggy growled under her breath and crawled through, nudging the window up and sliding into the house. James followed lightly, tugging his jacket straight as he did, and glanced back down the alley, frowning as he spotted the man running towards them. “Follow me,” he said quietly, heading off through the small apartment, pulling the chain off the front door and heading out. Without hesitation, he headed up the stairs, ignoring the confused noise from the woman behind him.

 

                They didn’t pause until he held up a hand, unlocking the roof access hatch as Peggy caught her breath. He climbed through, giving her a hand up, then shut it firmly, glancing around. Spotting a piece of piping, he slid it into the latch of the doo. Turning away from it, James walked to the edge of the roof and pulling a flashlight out of his pocket. Pointing it across the wall, he flicked it on a few times as Peggy snapped “What are we doing here?”

 

                “Looking. For Agent Jones,” James said abruptly, before glancing at the roof hatch. It rattled as something heavy hit it, then there were a few soft pings, and bullet dents appeared in the metal, making James frown.

 

                Something whistled through the air, making Peggy jump, but James didn’t blink, watching the hook lodge itself in the chimney behind him. Reaching up, he tested the wire, before pulling a hook off his belt, clipping it to the line.

 

                There was a noise behind them, and James turned, eyes narrowing as hands appeared on the side of the roof. The blond man pulled himself up, and James held out an arm to Peggy, gesturing her forward. “Hug me.”

 

                She did so, without the argument he was beginning to expect was a normal state of being for her, and he wrapped his left arm tightly around her waist. Ignoring the look she gave him when it touched her, he grabbed the line connecting them to the main wire and stepped forward, off the edge of the building.

 

                As they flew down the line, James looked back, scowling when the man hooked his own jacket over the line and followed. They hit the truck on the other side of the wall with a thump, and he called out, “Jones, reverse,” as they steadied. The truck lurched backwards, and James watched with an arched brow as the line sagged, the man on it slowing to a stop. On the wrong side of the final wall.

 

                Herding Peggy aside with a hand, James stepped close to the grappling gun that held the wire in place, and yanked out a bolt. The line snapped, shimmying as it flew out of the truck, and James saw a momentary panic on the other man’s face before he dropped into the mine field. There was no explosion as the truck shifted into gear, so James assumed it was the man’s lucky day, stepping in close to Peggy as she stumbled.

 

                “My name is James Barnes, and _you_ , Miss Carter, are now in protective custody.”

 

                She spluttered at that, and James ignored her, leaving the other agent to placate her as he moved to his equipment bag. He dismantled the pistol quickly, then swapped his heavy gloves for the thinner leather ones, refusing to look at his left hand as he did. James settled on top of one of the crates and leaned his head back against the canvas walls with a sigh, knowing the night wasn’t over yet.

 

                It wasn’t.

 

 

                Talking to his boss was irritating on a _good_ day, but James had been shot at, chased across East Berlin, and shoved in a safe house instead of the nice hotel he had been looking forward to all day.

 

                On top of all that, Peggy had been sassing him all night, calling him out on his promise of a ‘chic hotel’, and complaining about the smell of his food – though she had shut up pretty quickly when she actually tasted it, and had polished it off pretty quickly.

 

                Bracing his hands on his hips, ignoring the fact that he was still in a floral apron, he stared at his mission chief, Peter Sanders. Who wasn’t even paying attention to him, the ass, and had his gaze fixed on the image of President Kennedy as the man gave a speech about nuclear warfare. Fitting, really.

 

                “I trust Miss Carter was helpful?” the man finally spoke, and James sighed, knowing exactly how this conversation was going to go.

 

                “You were right, the uncle is our way in.”

 

                “That’s it? That’s all you got?”

 

                James grit his teeth, hiding his annoyance as he continued. “He’s in Italy, Rome. Works for a shipping company called Pierce, and now you have Miss Carter. My work here is don-"

 

                “We already knew all of that,” Sanders drawled, and James raised an eyebrow. ”Your job is done when _I_ say it’s done.”

 

                “You told me,” James said, a hard note entering his voice. “That this was going to be a simple extraction.”

 

                “It should have been, I didn’t ask you to light up half of East Berlin.”

 

                “They were waiting for me.”

 

                “Don’t flatter yourself, they follow everybody.”

 

                James ground his teeth, eyes narrowing slightly on his boss. He couldn’t _do_ or _say_ anything that could get him too deep into trouble, or risk longer at the heel of this irritating man. But he wasn’t about to let the man walk all over him. “ _What_ was waiting for me was barely human, you should have seen it _run_ ,” He drawled, only exaggerating a little.

 

                “Grow a spine, Barnes. Contrary to what you may think, we are not in the haberdashery business,” Sanders said, eyebrows raised in mild annoyance, disbelief on his face.

 

                “I don’t think you understand, it tore the back off my _car_.”

 

                “Remind me, Barnes, how long was your prison sentence?” James grit his teeth at the reminder, knowing what was coming next. “And how many more years on top of that do you owe for that?” Sanders gestured to James’ arm, and James curled his left hand into a fist to stop himself strangling the dick.

 

                “You owe me five more years,” Sanders said, standing and approaching carefully. As soon as he was close enough, the man leaned in, speaking softly. “Now, I know you’ve been … taking care of yourself on the side, wetting your beak, so to speak. We don’t pay you enough to put _truffles_ in your _risotto_ , Barnes. But don’t ever make the calamitous error of mistaking my _deliberate_ short-sightedness for _blindness_.” The man stepped back when James didn’t respond, and walked towards the door.

 

                “Now you’ll report for duty at nine am sharp tomorrow morning, and with a better attitude,” Sanders said firmly, and James smirked, knowing well enough that _that_ was never going to happen. Sanders knew it too, but he never stopped trying.

 

                James stayed where he was as the man left, making the two agents that followed walk around him in a petty moment of spite. When the door closed behind them, he let his smile fall, scrubbed his right hand over his face, then sighed, tugging the apron off and leaving it draped over the back of a couch. Man he hated that man sometimes.

 

                Tugging the glove off his left hand with his teeth, James flexed his fingers, watching the dim light play over the metal, then headed for the bedroom he was using, calling out to Peggy.

 

                “I’m taking a shower, don’t break anything.”

 

                There was a scoff, and the obvious and deliberate clatter of a fork hitting the ground, before the kitchen went quiet again.

 

                There was no such thing as simple, he realised, and it was his own fault for thinking this mission _would_ be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is super background heavy but i hope it explains how i see steve being the russian one of the two :o i'll recap at the end in case it wasn't clear

 James followed Sanders with a faint scowl, gloved fingers curling around the handle of the umbrella over his shoulder. It was a nice enough park, and there was still a spattering of people walking through it, or feeding the ducks, despite the rain. The faint chill sent a shiver down James’ spine, and he flicked the collar of his trench coat up. He pretended to listen as Sanders rambled on about his family, and how he and his wife had met in a park ‘just like this one’. James could hardly imagine such an irritating, and irritable, man having a family, but he supposed it was all a matter of opinion.

 

                He tuned back in when his boss started saying things worth listening to, and schooled his expression into one of mild interest.

 

                “Look at them all, merrily oblivious, as we labour tirelessly to save them from extinction. Without even a simple thank you.”

 

                James sighed, having heard the spiel before, when they had first arrived in Germany. First, a bit of thinly veiled racism-

 

                “Every day, Barnes, I tell myself, that inside every kraut, there’s an American, trying to get out.”

 

                And there it was, typical of the paper-pusher type Sanders was. James grimaced slightly, furrowed his brows as they came to a stop outside one of the public bathrooms. “A little tired this morning, sir?” he asked, over-sincere and not _really_ caring at all.

 

                “You’d be too if you’d been up all night trying to sort this mess out.” Sanders said abruptly, heading for the bathroom. He paused in the doorway, looking back at James, then inclined his head. James sighed, followed, closing his umbrella at the last moment.

 

                Once in the small shelter, James brushed the water off his shoulders, and hooked his umbrella on the sink in the centre of the room. “Anything in particular sir?” James prompted as Sanders walked through, checking each stall for occupants. “Or are you just looking?”

 

                When Sanders moved to the urinal, James sighed, pivoting on his foot and facing the opposite wall.

 

                “What I’m about to feed you, Barnes, may taste a little …. Bitter.” James hid a cough at that, certain that the man hadn’t meant to make it sound as he did. “Nevertheless, you’re going to have to swallow it.”

 

                There was a note of finality in his voice, and James frowned, went to turn. “Where are you going with-“ There was a scuff of a footstep, and James cut himself off, looking at the entrance at the same time a large man came through it.

 

                A familiar, large man.

 

                A blond, with pretty blue eyes that hardened as soon as they landed on James.

 

                Well, fuck.

 

                There was a heartbeat of silence, and James heard Sanders turn, and then the blond grit his teeth, and threw himself into James.

 

                They went falling backwards, into a stall, and the air left James’ lungs as he hit the solid stone wall. The man threw a punch, hitting James low in the gut, and went for his arm, attempting to get behind him. James stumbled sideways, wheezing, as the blond twisted his arm behind him and got an arm around his throat.

 

                Reacting more in instinct than anything, James threw himself back, driving the man into the wall, then drew forward, before doing it again. The man twisted them slightly as James kicked out against the opposite wall for leverage, and they ended up crashing back through the partitions separating the cubicles.

 

                The man loosened his grip upon impact, and James managed to slip out of the chokehold, shoving the man face first towards the wall. The man crouched, and James growled under his breath as he ducked behind James _again_ , shoving him forward, then into the next partition.

 

                Crashing through that, James managed to get a grip on the guy’s sleeves, dragging him forward then driving them out of the cubicle. Aiming for the wall, James made a noise of surprise as the man dropped, moving his head back just in time to avoid a foot in his face. The sudden weight on his left arm stunned him enough to overbalance him, and he went pitching forward, a grunt falling from his lips as he hit the ground on his back. The man twisted, lunging towards him again as James pushed to his hands and knees, and James berated himself as he felt the man’s arm wind around his neck again. The man shoved them both back, rolled them, and James was left without leverage at all, thick arm against his throat and hot breath in his ear. Eyes widening, he scrabbled at the arm across his throat, but he didn’t have the leverage to _really_ use his left arm, and his right arm was no match for the guy. Strong legs would around his waist, holding him in place as he tried to shimmy out of the grip, and James growled, fighting to free himself but slowly realising he was beaten.

 

                The man fell still, arm impossibly solid across James’ throat, and a soft buzzing started in his ears, the edges of his vision starting to get hazy. He blinked rapidly, still struggling vaguely, as what looked like a man came into the room. James had a moment of thinking _death actually wears a black suit, huh_ , before the man spoke, nodding at Sanders, who was watching the proceedings with mild amusement. _What the hell?_

 

                The man spoke directly to the man still choking James, Russian accent heavy, and he sounded only mildly annoyed.

 

                “Rogers.” The man behind James shifted, grip tightening, and James made a soft choking noise. “ _Don’t kill your partner on your first day_.”

 

                There was a moment where nothing happened, and James was ready to accept that he was signing off in a dingy bathroom in the middle of Berlin with a _Russian_ on his back. Then, the arm across his throat disappeared, and James was kicked away. Rolling to his front, he struggled to suck in a deep breath, only just managing not to cough.

 

                When the haze had disappeared from his vision, and he could speak full words, James lifted his head, looking at Sanders. “What does that mean?” he wheezed, and Sanders moved closer, washing his hands as though his agent hadn’t nearly died at his feet.

 

                “He said-“

 

                “I know what he said,” James snapped, sucking air into his deprived lungs. “What does it _mean_?”

 

                Sanders looked at the Russian, then down at James as he pushed to his knees, then stumbled upright, rolling his shoulders back and tipping his head up slightly.

 

                “Coffee?” he said instead, as if James had never spoken. James growled, and Sanders levelled him with a warning glare that made his fingers twitch. The two men walked off in silence, and James swore under his breath, ignoring the blond in favour of grabbing his umbrella and brushing himself off. When he decided he was presentable, he walked out into the rain again, a slight limp in his gait. The blond, Rogers, followed, half a pace behind, and James could feel him glaring. There was no reason for someone who looked like _that_ to be such an asshole, James decided.

 

 

 

                God, he was even more of an asshole in the _polite_ setting of the busy cafe. James grit his teeth, forcing himself not to look at the smug expression on Ro – _Steve’s_ , what a classic American name – face, instead focusing on Sanders as he spoke and ignoring the cup of coffee in front of him.

 

                “The main ingredient of an atom bomb is enriched uranium. Dr Erskine’s research was on the verge of dramatically simplifying the enriching process.”

 

                “Making it incredibly easy for just about anyone to build a nuclear device,” the Russian – Oleg – finished.

 

                Sanders placed a manila file on the table in front of James, and he flicked it open as Sanders picked up again. “We believe that the Pierce Shipping and Aerospace company in Rome, where Miss Carter’s Uncle Zola is a senior executive, is in fact a _cover_ for an international criminal organisation with ties to former Nazi’s.”

 

                James nudged a couple of photos out of the file, a couple of a building with the name _Pierce_ on the side, one of Arnim Zola, a couple of Pierce. One caught his eye, and he tugged it closer, a colour photo of Pierce, with a young man, and an older man between them. The young man looked familiar, but he couldn’t place him. He blinked when he realised Sanders was still talking, and tuned back in.

 

                “… -ce, Pierce’s father, was a friend of Mussolini’s and a known faschist. Rumour has it that Pierce Sr. had a hand in smuggling the Nazi’s gold to South America after the war. Now, it’s run by his son, Alexander, and his protégée, a man named Brock Rumlow. They both have ambition, and Pierce himself has incredible political pull in Italy, as well as connections to the American government, which is why not a word of this is to be spoken to anyone not approved by Agent Oleg or I.”

 

                James nodded warily, not liking where this was going. He was a specialist, with a very specific skillset, so there was only one reason he could think of for him to be forced into this … _partnership_.

 

                “We believe they are responsible for Dr. Erskine’s disappearance. You can imagine the kind of problems we would face if an atom bomb fell into hands like theirs.”

 

                Oleg picked up again, leaning forward and tapping his fingers on the colour photo of the three men. “We have no choice but to work together to prevent that happening. Your mission is to infiltrate this organisation, and retrieve Dr. Erskine and his research. It will be stored on a computer disk, like this one.” Oleg pulled a blue unit, the size of his palm, out of his jacket and set it on the table, on top of the file. “Whoever has that disk, will simply be the most powerful nation in the world. It _cannot_ fall into the wrong hands.”

 

                Sanders looked at James, and James looked up from the file, raising an eyebrow. “You, Barnes, are to investigate Pierce, and Brock Rumlow. Our Russian friend,” Sanders nodded at Steve, and James had to bite his tongue to hold back a scoff. _Friend_. Yeah, right. “Will focus on Miss Carter and her uncle, Zola.”

 

                He stood, and James watched him move with mild confusion, refusing to look at the Russian on the other side of the table. “We’ll leave you two to get … acquainted.” Sanders added, and Oleg nodded, pushing to his feet. As they did, there was the clatter of plates and cutlery, and everyone else around them stood in silence, walking away as the two Agents did, leaving James alone with Steve.

 

                There was a long silence, in which James continued to ignore Steve’s presence. He had just reached for his coffee cup when Steve spoke, and _fuck_ if the man’s voice wasn’t absolute _sin_.

 

                “Obviously,” He began, and his accent was less Russian than James had been expected, tinged with American, and something else he couldn’t place. “I’ve been briefed on you. Army sergeant-turned-art thief. You only got caught because they got lucky. Or, you got sloppy.” Steve leaned forward slightly in his chair, eyes narrowing, and it hit James like a sack of bricks that this man was even _more_ attractive when he was vaguely pissed off. _Oh no_.

 

                “You agreed to work for the CIA, partly to get out of your, what … fifteen year prison sentence? And partly to repay them for the _significant_ medical procedures to make you a worthwhile investment.”

 

                James flinched slightly at that, grit his teeth as his left hand clenched under the table. Never mind, this guy was an asshole. Still. Again. Whatever.

 

                “What’s most interesting, given your … circumstances, is what would motivate you to become the CIA’s _most effective_ agent?” Steve tipped his head slightly, and a lock of blond hair flopped over his forehead. James’ fingers itched to brush it away, and he had to remind himself why he was pissed with the man. “I concluded it must be to counteract the humiliation of knowing your balls are on the end of a very long leash, held by a very short man.”

 

                Steve looked almost smug at that, as if challenging James to reciprocate, or face the fact that he was outclassed. James responded to the dare with a raised eyebrow, leaning back in his seat and stretching his legs out under the table, refusing to rise to the bait that was Steve’s words.

 

                “I’m sure you understand humiliation, better than most, don’t you, _comrade_?” James started, and Steve folded his arms across his chest, eyes narrowing slightly.

 

                “Really? How so?” he challenged.

 

                “Well, after your … performance … last night, I thought I should read up on you. Rather a sad story, really, what with your dad being a big pal of Stalin’s, a top government official with all of the perks and privileges. He met your mother in Ireland, didn’t he? You were born there, but moved to Russia when the instability threatened your father’s tentative position in his political party. Managed to worm his way into Russia’s political structure as well. He must have been an _incredibly_ charismatic man. Things settled down, you were living well. That is, until the Americans found him again. Deserter in the US Army, and all. I mean, at least _I_ was honourably discharged.” James paused, took a sip of his coffee, watching Steve’s impassive face. Time to dig a little deeper.

 

                “All of that commotion brought to light the fact that he was embezzling party funds. How old were you when he was sent to the Gulag? Nine? Ten? Was that when the … episodes started?” James glanced down, noted the steadily tapping finger against Steve’s bicep. He was getting to Steve, that’s for sure. “You did however, rise above it – special forces, KGB. Youngest man to join, in fact, and their best within three years. I _do_ wonder if it was your father’s shame that gave you such drive though.” James looked at Steve for a moment, and seeing the hardening of his eyes, the tensing of his jaw, soldiered on. Poking, searching for weaknesses, determined to walk away the victor of their little competition.

 

                “Or, was it your mother’s reputation?” That got a definite response. The finger tic sped up, and Steve’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly on James. “I hear she was extremely _popular_ with your father’s friends after he was shipped off to Siberia.”

 

                Before James could continue, Steve stood, without a word. He leaned forward, meeting James’ gaze, then in an abrupt motion, tucked his hand under the edge of the table and threw the entire thing sideways, without care for everything on it. It was only the knowledge that they were working together, and therefore that Steve wouldn’t actually hurt him, that kept James so impassive, barely flinching as the table flew across the little area and hit a wall. In the following silence, the crashing of falling ceramics and the fluttering paper was almost deafening.

 

                James knew he’d won.

 

                Meeting Steve’s gaze, he gave the smallest smile, and Steve stared at him for a long moment, before turning abruptly on his heel. Tucking his shoulders up, Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and walked away, hunching further as the rain hit him. James grinned, leaning back in his chair for a moment, before standing, moving to retrieve the table. No point in leaving the waitress to clean up after them, not when it had been James who had caused the commotion in the first place.

 

                Maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he’d expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i hope that wasn't too much, too fast (and it's been a while since i've written a fight scene oops)
> 
> but in case you missed anything:  
> steve was born in northern ireland to an irish mother and an american father. they left north ireland when steve was only a few years old. they moved to russia, where steve's dad talked his way into politics, and lived off the money he was swindling off the government. he was caught, sent to prison. steve joined the army, then moved to the kgb, where he currently is.
> 
> bucky was born and raised in america, joined the army, became an sniper. made it to sergeant, the war ended, he stayed on in germany as part of the occupying force. he got into art thievery, and was very good at it, but was caught after a few years. as part of the mission that got him caught, irreparable damage was done to his left arm, and it was removed. the cia paid to have it replaced and drafted him instead of imprisoning him, and he was forced into twenty years of service, which he is most of the way through.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh sorry about the delay, university exams suck ass. it's short because there's going to be a brief pov change in the next chapter, so we get some insight into what's going on in steve's head too - and as a bonus we get one of my favourite moments in the movie :v

The trip to Rome had thankfully been short, and the flight had been calm, which was rare. James thanked the cab driver as they pulled up outside the hotel, grabbing his bag before the man could get out of the car, and paying quickly before heading in. He put on a bright smile despite his fatigue, studiously ignoring Steve and Peggy as they passed by. He handed over his passport at the front counter, greeting the woman at the desk with a smile.

 

                “Reservation for Jack Devony,” he added, leaning against the counter and letting his gaze track over the woman’s face slowly as she blinked at him.

 

                She dropped her head and scanned the documentation in front of her with a smooth “Welcome to Rome, Mr. Devony,” and a wide smile, that James would _almost_ call genuine. “What brings you to us?” she asked politely as she handed the passport back, turning to collect his key.

 

                “Oh, work, the usual,” James said evenly, movement catching his attention. Turning his head slightly, he watched a pair of men stand from one of the plush couches and follow Steve and Peggy out of the foyer and into the street. “Actually,” he said as the hostess turned back. “I have some errands to run, would you be able to have my bag taken to my room?” He requested with an easy smile.

 

                “Of course Mr. Devony,” She responded, handing over a folded sheet of card and his door key. “You’ll be in room 807. I’ll have someone take your bag up right away.”

 

                James nodded, accepting the key, and headed for the front door with a final appreciative look her way, tucking the key, and the card, into his pocket.

 

                James left the hotel, pausing in the entranceway to scan the crowd for the people he had seen before. Spotting them up the street, he walked through Steve’s likely route and, when he was content that it matched the way they were heading, turned on his heel and walked in the opposite direction. The hotel wasn’t connected to any neighbouring buildings, with driveways and a car lot behind it, so casing the place was simply a matter of not getting caught. Scanning the exterior, James noted a few service entrances, all locked, and took the time to plan a route up to the second floor from the lot behind. Satisfied he wouldn’t be caught out, he headed back into central Rome, hands in his pockets, passing the first two car rentals before picking one at random.

 

                It was almost too easy to secure a light moped for the duration of the mission, just a flash of his passport and an exchange of cash before he had the keys and was on his way. Taking a circular route, he stopped at a few places, meeting various agents and picking up everything he couldn’t get across the border. James didn’t question why he felt immediately safer with a pistol tucked under his suit jacket, but after his last stop he felt the tension start to ease out of him.

 

                Glancing at his watch, he ran through his mental map again before heading to the landmark Steve and Peggy would hopefully be making their way towards.

 

                Sure enough, he came across them as they turned down the steps, talking quietly between themselves. He watched in his wing mirror as the two men that had initially followed the pair out of the hotel stopped at the top of the stairs, talking for a moment before walking in another direction. Right, probably time to intervene.

 

                Circling to the bottom of the steps, he pulled to a stop just as Steve backpedalled out of what he was saying with a stammer. The blond looked almost relieved when James spoke up, before he frowned.

 

                “G’d’evening _comrade_ ,” James drawled, leaning back slightly on the moped.

 

                “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be making contact in public.” Steve snapped, and James raised an eyebrow. _Oh, is that how it is?_

 

                “You’re being followed,” James said easily, not riding to the bait. This time.

 

                “I know, two men from the hotel lobby, one in a brown suit, one in a leather jacket.” Steve stared at James, a daring glint in his eye that James was starting to realise was almost natural for the man. “Which is _why_ you should _leave_.”

 

                James leaned forward slightly, resting an arm against the handlebars, and looked at Peggy, standing in the middle of a large fountain, rather than at the rising ire in Steve’s expression. “They diverted when you headed down the steps, I imagine they’ve looped around to head you off at your next stop.”

 

                “I will handle them,” Steve said firmly, voice dropping slightly. James refused to show what that did to him.

 

                “Handle. Just to. Avoid any confusion, you do mean give ‘em your wallet and act scared?” James taunted with a raised eyebrow, still staring ahead even though Peggy had moved away from the large fountain.

 

                Out of the corner of his eye, James saw Steve’s mouth twist, and had a moment to steel himself before the man scoffed, “Scared?”

 

                “What’s going on?” Peggy interrupted, not looking at either of them, and James made a noise of approval in the back of his throat.

 

                “You’re being tested,” James answered. “Someone is wanting to make sure that your _fiancé_ is really who he says he is. An architect, not someone who’s trained how to fight. A KGB agent, for example.”

 

                “I said you are _not_ needed here,” Steve hissed, and James turned, looking the man dead in the eye.

 

                Peggy interrupted the tense silence with an abrupt “I think you should do what he says.” Steve turned to look at her, and she met his gaze, staring steadily back until Steve growled under his breath, rolling his shoulders.

 

                Before he could help himself, James straightened, smirking slightly. “And remember, take it like a pussy.”

 

                Steve _actually_ snarled at that, looking like he was damned near about to put his fist through James’ face, and so James counted that as a win to himself as well. But then, as quickly as it appeared, the expression faded, Steve’s eyebrows shifting up, face the picture of innocence as he said, just loud enough for James to hear, “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

 

                James stared, caught completely off guard, and Steve smirked slightly before turning on his heel, taking Peggy’s arm in his and walking away, shooting over his shoulder, “That is _not_ the Russian way.”

 

                James stared after them for a long time, well after they were gone from sight, trying to work out what the _hell_ Steve actually meant by that.

 

                After a few minutes, he shook his head, throwing the thought from his mind, starting the moped and following them at a discrete distance. He told himself he was concerned for the state of the mission, told himself that he needed to know whether Steve actually passed this little _test_ he’d been set, whether their cover was blown because Steve couldn’t take a hit without taking it personally. He couldn’t even convince himself that that was the case, and that was the problem. James wasn’t even sure he _liked_ the guy, but he _definitely_ liked the guy’s ass. And his stupid face. And his pretty mouth. And what had felt like a frankly fantastic dick from where Bucky had been lying whilst Steve had been trying to kill him.

 

                James shut that line of thought off with a sharp shake of his head as he pulled over, out of hearing range of the group outside the colosseum. Focusing on what was happening not far away, James parked the moped, glad to see that despite the initial resistance, Steve seemed to be doing as he was told.

 

                As James watched though, Steve started to resist, and Peggy stepped in, handing over her ‘engagement’ ring with a stern look at Steve that James could read even from where he was. Steve stared at one of the Mafiosi, and James swore he heard the crack of flesh on flesh as Steve was slapped once, then twice.

 

                Peggy turned, looking at Steve, and said something urgently, probably telling the stubborn prick to do what he’s been told, and hand whatever was demanded over. There was a moment in which nothing happened, then Steve fumbled at his wrist, before holding up his watch.

 

                The Mafioso to his right snatched the watch off Steve, and then James shook his head when the man spat on Steve’s face. The fucking asshole, James decided, deserved whatever Steve dealt.

 

                Steve didn’t disappoint either, hand snapping out and hitting the Mafioso in the throat, causing him to stumble back. James sighed, and Peggy latched onto Steve’s arms, holding him still as the other Mafioso pulled a gun, pointing it at the two of them.

 

                When Steve didn’t react further, let Peggy hold him still, the guy walked carefully around them, helped the other up, and then fled with Steve and Peggy’s belongings. James waited until the two were long gone before sliding off his moped and wandering down through the ruins to where the other two were still standing, speaking quietly.

 

                “You’re not very good at this whole … subtlety thing, are you?” he drawled when he was close enough, and Steve turned, pointing his finger after the two men who had mugged them. He seemed unsurprised that James was there, maybe he was being too predictable about this.

 

                “That man stole my father’s watch,” Steve said quietly, anger and frustration seeping into his tone.

 

                “Aren’t you supposed to be a Russian _architect_?” James pointed out, and Steve tensed, glaring at him.

 

                “ _Da_ ,” he started, and _oh god_ James hadn’t considered how hot Russian could be when it was sliding off Steve’s tongue like water. “A Russian architect _would_ fight, a Russian agent would have _killed them both_ , so it is no trouble unless you continue to question my actions,” Steve growled, and James raised an eyebrow, going defensively cocky to hide the fact that okay, yeah, he was totally about to melt into a puddle at Steve’s feet. And that Steve was actually right, but that was secondary to the potential embarrassment of the first.

 

                “Oh, so you’ve _actually_ thought this through?” he said, oversincere, and Steve stiffened, glare turning icy.

 

                “Would you like to finish what they started,” he said, voice sharp enough to cut glass.

 

                Before James could reply, or absolutely combust on the spot, Peggy cut in, glaring at the both of them. “Oi! You two are supposed to be looking after me, so why am _I_ playing mother, huh?” She paced towards them, eyebrow raised, and James felt himself wither, just a bit, under her gaze. “Either you start to look like you know what you’re doing, or I’m out of here,” she snapped, before turning on her heel and walking away. "This is just like the damned boutique, you just can't help yourselves. This is more than you two beating your chests and attempting one-up each other at every opportunity."

 

                Both James and Steve stared after her for a long moment, before Steve swore under his breath, growled, “Stop. Meddling.” to James, and jogged after her, catching up and taking the punch to his shoulder without complaint. Watching them, James heard the faint murmur of Peggy’s voice, then the low rumble of Steve’s, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. Probably trash talking about him, if Steve’s attitude towards him was anything indicative of his feelings.

 

                Honestly, James wouldn’t be surprised. He told himself he should be proud, getting under Steve’s skin enough to have the guy hating him. They _were_ agents on opposite sides of the arms race after all, there couldn’t exactly be a friendship there, let alone anything else.

 

                Knowing that didn’t stop ugly feeling in the pit of his gut as he watched the two walk away though. Of course it didn’t.

 

                Turning on his heel, James stuck his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunching up slightly as he headed back to where his moped was parked. It should be easy to get Steve off his mind. He’d just go out for a few drinks, find himself a nice dame or three, try and get rid of this unhealthy … _infatuation_ in sweat and skin. It would be fine. It would work, it always worked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so the infatuation begins ..... will it be reciprocated? does steve actually hate him? all will be revealed
> 
> (hint yes, and no :v but bucky's always had a flare for the overdramatic )
> 
> next up, steve!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up, there's a change of POV in this chapter, we'll be returning to bucky after this!  
> warnings in this chapter for mentions of homophobia, and alcohol use

Steve dropped into the armchair with a grunt, slouching back and staring balefully at the door as Peggy closed it behind them. “Don’t hurt yourself,” she teased lightly, pulling off her coat and hat, dumping both over the arm of the sofa. “What about him has you so raring to fight?” She asked, and Steve felt himself start to flush. Damnit.

 

                “I just- I don’t _know_ ,” he growled, reaching down to tug at the laces of his shoes. “He just gets under my skin, he _picks_ at everything. Even stuff I didn’t realise I was still bothered about,” he huffed, sliding his shoes under the table and rubbing a hand over his face.

 

                He heard Peggy snicker, and looked up, spotting her in front of the liquor cabinet. “I don’t know how he does it,” Steve mumbled, and she laughed softly.

 

                “He’s good at that, isn’t he?” She said after a moment, deliberating over the drinks before pulling out a bottle of clear liquid. “Are you sure there’s nothing else?”

 

                Steve watched her pour two glasses, so busy trying to work out what the _hell_ she meant by that to remind her that he didn’t drink. “What do you mean?” he asked eventually, and she headed towards him, setting both glasses on the table.

 

                “Drink?” She offered, and he stared at it, before looking back up at her and shaking his head.

 

                “No, thank you.”

 

                She shrugged, downing one glass, then the other, and settled back on the couch, a smirk touching the corners of her mouth.

 

                “Would you like a bigger glass?” Steve asked with a snort, and she rolled her eyes at him.

 

                “I will finish this bottle,” she started, and opened her mouth to continue when the room’s phone rang. Swearing softly, Peggy stood, walking back towards the cabinet to where the phone was resting, picking it up with a polite “Hello?” Steve watched her face go from curious to annoyed, to resigned, very quickly, and raised an eyebrow at her.

 

                “I’m sorry Uncle, not tonight. Steve isn’t feeling very well,” She said politely, before switching to German. Steve assumed her uncle had, considering she’d told him she wouldn’t unless it was necessary. He closed his eyes, letting the sound of words he couldn’t understand wash over him. He knew rudimentary German, sure, but had only been taught enough to not get into trouble in his brief stint in Berlin.

 

                He took the opportunity out of Peggy’s scrutiny to pull off his overcoat, hanging it, and Peggy’s, on the coat rack. Steve set her hat on top, moved their shoes, then pulled his sketchpad out of his bag. As Peggy nattered on with her uncle, he settled back in his seat, and started to set out the soft line of her shoulders. He lost himself in the sketch, in the lines on paper, startling when Peggy spoke behind him – luckily, just as he lifted his pencil off the paper.

 

                “You’re very good,” She said with a smile, before adding, “He’s still on your mind?”

 

                Steve frowned, looking at her over his shoulder, and she nodded at the paper. Glancing down, he froze, then swore softly, snapping the book closed on the twist of James’ smirk, his far too clever eyes.

 

                “Y’know,” Peggy started, leaning against the back of his chair, dangling the half-empty bottle of whatever she was drinking in front of his face. “Did I ever tell you about the time I fell for my neighbour?”

 

                They’d spoken a bit on the flight to Rome, discussed their shared love of travel – though she’d admitted she’d only been out of Germany once before – and theatre, laughed about the tales of their families, actually become _close_ , given that they’d only known each other for seventy two hours.

 

                So, Steve knew she was remarkably perceptive, and knew that she never, not once, gave up a line of thought until she was ready to. So, he shook his head, trying to work out what she was thinking, and how the hell that related to what she _thought_ Steve was thinking.

 

                “We were fantastic friends, close since we were children. Then there was more. We started dating, keeping it all below level so our parents wouldn’t find out. Then her mother walked in on us one day, threw us both out on our asses. She was disowned, completely, and I was sent away to my Uncle and Aunt’s. I haven’t seen her since.”

 

                Steve’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, then flushed and closed it again, looking at his hands. Peggy laughed, a soft thing, and kissed his cheek before pushing herself upright, walking around to take her seat on the couch again. She poured herself another glass, offered one to him again, and he shook his head.

 

                “Fair enough,” she murmured, picking up her class and leaning back on the sofa, crossing her legs at the knee. “I’m not going to assume anything, Steve. I’m not going to put words in your mouth. But you look at him the way I looked at Angie, and I think you should maybe think about why that is.” She downed her drink in one short gulp, then grinned at him. “Now, I’m going to keep drinking, and you’re going to be boring, and we’re gonna get through this damned thing. There’s a party tomorrow to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of Pierce shipping, and Uncle Zola has invited us. That’s sure to be … riveting.” She drawled, and Steve grumbled under his breath, grinding his teeth before opening his sketchpad to a new page.

 

                “Oh, you’re _actually_ going to be boring?” Peggy drawled, taking a drink directly from the bottle, eyes looking a little less sharp. Steve huffed under his breath, focused on sketching the room in front of him. There was no way he could start drawing James if he was drawing a _sofa_ , he decided.

 

                Peggy raised an eyebrow, then stood, taking the bottle with her as she wandered into the attached bedroom. Steve tried to focus but when he heard the crackle of the radio, he knew he wasn’t going to get much done. Some popular song came on, and he sighed, still attempting to flesh out the couch on his page. He struggled to concentrate for a good five minutes before he tossed his book and pencil on the table, standing and turning to glare in her direction.

 

                Peggy turned, giving him her back as she danced, bottle in hand, but Steve saw the smirk on her lips as she did, and sighed.

 

                “Can you turn that off, please? I’m going to head to bed,” he said with a sigh, walking towards her. She ignored him, kept dancing, but cut him off whenever he tried to walk around her.

 

                “It’s no fun dancing by yourself,” She said with a smirk, setting the bottle on the small table at the end of one of the beds. “I need a partner.”

 

                “No.” Steve said tiredly, and she grinned outright, pointed at him vaguely. She didn’t seem drunk, not really, but she was swaying slightly more than the music accounted for, and Steve sighed, knowing she was just toying with him.

 

                “No as in you can’t dance, or you don’t want to?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

 

                “I’m waiting for the right partner,” Steve said after a moment, and she snorted.

 

                “Both, then.” She reached out, snagging Steve’s wrist in her hand, then slid her fingers down to grip his hand when he didn’t react. He stepped forward when she tugged, and tried to fight the smile when she took both of his hands in hers, started swaying, out of time with the music. He relaxed, let her lead him, hoping that in doing so she’d actually let him go to bed sooner rather than later. Steve closed his eyes, and immediately regretted it when she used the moment to slap him with his own hand.

 

                Steve’s eyes shot open, and he glared, yanking his hand down. Peggy stepped back, fighting a giggle, and mumbled “Sorry,” before gingerly taking his hands again. She started to move again, her whole body shifting and dragging his arms along with her. Steve let her, and then growled when she almost immediately slapped him again. Pulling his hands out of hers, he glared, but Peggy just raised an eyebrow, turning on her heel.

 

                “Someone’s gotta slap some sense into you,” she drawled, picking up the bottle as she went and taking a swig. “Still no drink?”

 

                Steve grit his teeth, growled, “Don’t make me put you over my knee,” before he could actually think about what he was saying.

 

                “Oh, so you don’t want to dance,” Peggy started, setting the bottle down and looking at Steve steadily. “But you do want to wrestle.”

 

                “I didn’t say _that-”_ Steve started, but it was no use. He was cut off by Peggy’s shoulder in his gut, and he stumbled backwards. She kept driving, and he before he could regain his balance, the back of his legs hit the sofa arm, and he toppled, taking Peggy with him. The sofa was soft, and she was light, so the landing didn’t make him bat an eyelid as he rolled, trying to get her off him. She clung, and they fell to the floor with a thump, rolling until she was on top again. He tried to throw her off, but she wrapped her legs around his, locking her feet behind his knees, so they ended up rolling _again_ , hitting the coffee table and sending everything on it crashing to the ground.

 

                Peggy was stronger than she looked, and Steve had to really work to get himself upright, then stand, and try to shake her off. Again, it didn’t work, and he made a noise of frustration when she dropped a foot and tripped him, sending him ass first into the tray table before he hit the ground with a solid thump.

 

                Scrambling up him before Steve could do anything, Peggy pinned him to the ground, hovering over him, breathing heavily. Her hands started to slip off his shoulders, hitting the ground one after the other. “You kinda look like her,” Peggy mumbled, eyes drooping shut before snapping open. “Like … like my Angie.” She drooped, swaying closer, and Steve held his breath, not entirely sure what to do at this point in time. He had a drunk woman slowly passing out whilst straddling his waist, talking about her lost girlfriend. God, James would absolutely get a kick out of this. Not that he was going to tell the jerk.

 

                Peggy drooped further, lips brushing Steve’s cheek as she mumbled, “You should … go for it. M’jus’say’n.” The last sentence was more of a mumbled mash of sounds, and her head fell to the crook of Steve’s neck, her breathing evening out.

 

                Waiting a moment to make sure she was asleep, Steve wrapped an arm around her waist carefully and sat up. With a bit of effort, he managed to get to his feet, an arm at Peggy’s back and one on her knee to hold her up as he carried her towards the bedroom. Getting her settled into bed was easy, and he sighed, quickly changing into something sleep suitable before climbing into his own bed.

 

                But Peggy’s words played through his mind, chasing and turning until he wasn’t sure what he wanted anymore. The only thing he could think about was the twist of James’ mouth, that faint smirk whenever something went his way, and Steve sighed, curling into his pillow. Maybe he should. Maybe he should go for it. What was there to lose? He already wasn’t sure James liked him, so if it went wrong, it’d just be more of that until they parted ways. But if it didn’t go wrong, if everything went right, if he was lucky enough to have James reciprocate even just the _physical_ , this entire mission could be a hell of a lot more pleasant. Good, even.

 

                All he needed was an opportunity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the plot thickens....
> 
> man i love peggy


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor warnings for general assfuckery and a throwaway line that hints at jamesxpierce which will never happen i promise, it's just james having a dirty mind and seeing innuendos in everything

When James woke, it was to unfamiliar perfume on his pillow, a pleasant ache in his body, and a less than pleasant throbbing in his head. With a groan, he rolled onto his side, glaring at the window, where faint light was slipping past the heavy curtain, before struggling upright.

 

                He was alone in his bed, which was nice, and it didn’t sound like there was anyone else in the apartment. Good to know that even drunk he had the sense to kick whoever it was out of his room before sleeping. Glancing at the bedside table, he blinked slowly, trying to work out why the hell the clock wasn’t moving. He could hear the ticking, but the second hand was just bouncing back and forth, caught on something. With a grunt of effort, James reached out, fingers sliding over the cool wood until he hit the leather strap of his watch. Looking at that, he groaned quietly, tossing it onto the bed before grabbing the clock.

 

                He turned the clock, flicking it open, and frowned when he saw something out of place, blocking the mechanism. A little wiggle had it falling out into his palm, and James stared at it, not processing what he was seeing for a long moment.

 

                “Motherfucker,” he growled when he managed to place the damned thin – a Russian bug. At least the punk would have gotten an earful if he’d tried to listen the night before. Struggling out of the tangle of sheets, James pulled pants on then dug around in his bag, looking for his scanner. Finding the little device, he started to comb through the room, berating himself. He should’ve done it earlier, despite the room being clean when he’d swept it the first night. He shouldn’t have _trusted_ that Steve would leave it alone.

 

                A cursory sweep found him six of the bugs, another, more patient search found him another _ten_ , and James growled under his breath, tugging his robe on. As soon as he was decent, he grabbed the pile of bugs, his key, and stormed out of the room, shoving them in the pockets of his robe. As he walked down the stairs, he was glad it was still fairly early – there was no one around to see him in nothing but his robe and pants. Even so, James ran his fingers through his hair, fixing it through habit and muscle memory, not needing a mirror.

 

                By the time he was standing in front of Steve and Peggy’s door, he was mostly presentable, if you didn’t count his clothing. He reached out, knocking sharply, and tucked his robe further around himself.

 

                Steve answered the door, dressed to the nines, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him, and _oh shit that was today_. “What are you doing here? You’re not supposed to be here,” Steve hissed, glancing up and down the empty hallway.

 

                Pushing that aside, James pulled the pile of Russian bugs out of his pocket. One by one he flicked them at Steve’s chest to punctuate his words. “These. Are. Russian. Made.” He stepped forward, dumping the rest of the bugs in Steve’s hand, and glared at him, leaning back against the opposite wall.

 

                For a moment, Steve just stared at them, then he closed his fingers over the pile. “One second,” he said shortly, turning and slipping back into the hotel room, again, closing the door behind him. James settled in to wait, not sure exactly how long Steve’s _one second_ would be, but Steve returned quickly.

 

                “These,” He started, and James’ hands flew up, catching the small device to his chest. “Are. _American_. Made. And very low tech,” Steve said, tossing the bugs in a mocking echo of James’ display. James straightened, feeling absurdly indignant because _at least he hadn’t bugged Steve as much_. There were only seven American bugs to the sixteen Russian ones. He also knew that Steve was probably seeing that as a mark of his ineptitude, rather than of James being polite.

 

                With a sniff, James turned on his heel, tucking the pile of American bugs into his pocket. He couldn’t let Steve have the last word though, shooting a “That bowtie doesn’t work with that suit,” over his shoulder as he walked away.

 

 

                Hours later, James was properly dressed, arriving at the motor circuit with time to spare. Straightening his suit as he stepped off it, he plotted his way into the private party tent of the Pierce group. Spotting a well-off looking gentleman in a suit, James headed towards him, turning his head away and bumping into him at the last moment. Stumbling slightly, a quick brush of his fingers up the inside of the guy’s open suit jacket rewarded him with a thick sheet of card. A flick of his wrist had it up his sleeve and hidden, and he apologised profusely as he kept walking towards the tent.

 

                Turning his back on the man, he checked the card, grinning to himself when he saw that it was in fact an invitation to the party. That made things easier. He tucked it in his inner pocket and smiled to himself.

 

                Time to make a scene.

 

                Slipping in the back was easy, the waiting staff didn’t even bat an eyelash when he walked through the kitchen like he owned it, stealing an olive off a tray as he avoided being hit by the spatula in the hand of a wildly gesticulating chef. A short walk up the stairs, letting the servers pass with a smile and a nod, and he was coming out from behind the bar and into the main party tent.

 

                He scanned the area, spotting Alexander Pierce himself speaking to a Dame or Duchess or something, and paused, waiting. As if on cue, Pierce looked up, eyes meeting James’. James just smiled politely, looking away, knowing full well that Pierce would know everyone in this tent. Everyone _except_ for him. He heard a strained whisper from Pierce’s direction as he snagged a flute of champagne, and he downed it quickly, spotting the hulking man in black that had to be a security guard.

 

                He avoided the man’s gaze by looking walking around the room, scanning the photographs on the walls, the small scale models of the family’s boats and factories. He heard the quiet but urgent voice of the security guard from just behind him, ignoring his “Excuse me, sir?” and making his way towards the racecar sitting on the platform as though he hadn’t heard.

 

                When the man got slightly louder, more insistent, James turned, giving him a _why are you talking to me?_ Look that had the man flinching back slightly. But he soldiered on, and James had to give him credit for that.

 

                “Your invitation?” He looked expectant, but also a lot like he didn’t expect James to have one, which made things that much more fun.

 

                “Of _course_ ,” James said, making a show of patting his pockets before smiling self-deprecatingly. “I wonder, did I leave it in the jag?”

 

                The glint in the security guard’s eye turned positively _gleeful_ , and he pressed his arm to James’ bicep, forcibly turning him with a “Could you please come with me sir? I’m sure we can clear this up.”

 

                James’ mouth opened, and he looked at the hand on him distastefully. He forced a polite smile, leaned into the guard slightly, and placed a hand on the man’s back as he dipped his head forward. Speaking quietly, so only the guard would hear, he murmured “ _I am neither a goat, nor your sister, so …_ ” in Italian. He met the guy’s gaze, raised his eyebrows, and said as sincerely as he could muster, “ _Get your hands off me_ ,” before patting the man’s crotch.

 

                James’s smirk had barely made an appearance before the guard was punching it off him, fist connecting soundly with James’ face. It wasn’t the hardest hit he’d taken, but James staggered as though it was, catching onto a nearby waiter before falling back before he ‘could get his feet under him’. He landed on the car’s front wheel, which did more in terms of damage than the punch had, and, with the ease of long practice, gave the gathering crowd a dazed smile.

 

                “What are you doing?” one of the waitresses snapped at the guard, pushing him away from James. “Why on _earth_ would you do that?”

 

                “He doesn’t have an invitation!” the guy defended himself, backing away and into the gathering crowd of partygoers.

 

                As the waitress dropped to a crouch beside him with an “Are you okay?”, James pulled out the invitation in his pocked, making sure the embossed gold _Pierce_ was visible on the expensive card, and fanned himself with it, panting overdramatically.

 

                He heard the firm and dismissing “Thank you” of the man of the hour, didn’t look up as he heard the guard try to defend himself, only to have Pierce repeat his words. The guard slipped off with his proverbial tail between his legs, and James grinned internally.

 

                “I wonder what they do to people _without_ invitations?” He said breathlessly, taking the offered flute of champagne and ignoring the man standing in front of him.

 

                “I am Alexander Pierce, and I do believe an apology is in order,” Pierce introduced himself smoothly, and James looked up, pausing with the glass halfway to his lips. “I’ll take it from here,” He said to the waitress, who looked up at him, then away.

 

                “Thank you,” James murmured honestly at the woman, before pushing hi his feet, taking Pierce’s offered hand to pull himself up before stumbling forward, arm draping over Pierce’s shoulders as their chests met with a thump. A quick flick of his fingers had three of the badges on Pierce’s lapel in his hand, and then up his sleeve, instead, including the one that had a heavily gilded gold watch on it. Pierce hardly noticed, and James pushed himself upright after a moment as Pierce gave him an almost disdainful look.

 

                “I’m okay … I think,” he said with a shaky smile, doing the buttons on his suit jacket up again, surreptitiously slipping the watch, and pins, into his pocket for later. Pierce turned on his heel, but nodded his head in the direction he was going, inviting James to walk with him. They didn’t speak, and James finished his glass, handing it off to a waiter.

 

                “Contessa,” Pierce said suddenly, dipping his head and kissing the cheek of a heavily made up woman. “ _How are you?_ ” he asked of the older woman, polite smile on

his face.

 

                As the woman simpered about her life and her family for a moment, James looked around, bored as anything, before his attention was brought back with the Contessa saying “ _And who might you be?_ ”

 

                James stepped forward, smile filling his face, and took the offered hand in both of his. He leaned in, kissing the gloved hand, and without the woman noticing, unclipped her watch and slipped it into his pocket.

 

                “Jack Devony, and how are you, Contessa?” He murmured politely, ignoring the way she blushed and instead focusing on the way Pierce reacted beside him. The man was watching James carefully, and once again James was fighting a grin. This was going just as he’d planned.

 

                Once Pierce had made his excuses to the Contessa and they’d moved on, he said quietly, without looking at James, “So how exactly did you come across an invitation to my party?”

 

                James smiled slightly, knowing it was time to really ply his trade. “Before we get there, allow me,” He drawled. He reached out as they approached a small table, closing his fingers over the napkin and making sure he had the tablecloth as well, before flicking his wrist. The tablecloth slid off smoothly, all of the items remaining on the table. Pierce raised an eyebrow, and James used the napkin still in his fingers to dab at an imaginary spot on Pierce’s cheek. “Contessa is a little … heavy on the lipstick,” he drawled.

 

                “And you’re light with your fingers,” Pierce responded with an arch look.

 

                “Well, I doubt she’ll miss it,” James said with a smirk, clipping the watch onto Pierce’s wrist. Before Pierce could respond, James hooked the lapel watch out of his pocket, held it up. “Etruscan, is it?”

 

                Pierce recoiled slightly, pressing a hand to his chest, frowning when he realised that it was indeed his own watch. James stepped in, pinning it back on the man, then one by one, produced the rest of his pins, clipping them back into place.

 

                “And my cufflinks?” Pierce said after a moment, and James raised an eyebrow.

 

                “Are they necessary? It’s rather warm today, maybe you should roll up your sleeves, sir.” Pierce’s lips pursed, and he looked like he was struggling to hide a smile. Good.

 

                 “So you’re a thief?”

 

                “I like to call myself a … specialist in complicated acquisitions,” James said in return with a practiced smile, zeroing in on the slight curve of Pierce’s mouth. Good, interest was good, amusement was better.

 

                “I hope you wear a mask,” he drawled, and James had to fight a snort. It was rather entertaining talking to people who had never stolen anything worth stealing – there was an interesting set of beliefs about how a theft was _supposed_ to be. Most of them, however, were wrong.

 

                “Sometimes,” James demurred, before adding on, “Just never when I’m stealing things.”

 

                He heard the slight huff of Pierce’s breath, knew he’d surprised the man. Good, better to keep him on his toes in the first encounter.

 

                “What is it exactly that you think you can do for me, Mr. Jack?” Pierce asked after a moment, curiosity piqued, though he was trying to hide it.

 

                “Let’s just say I fill gaps in important collections,” James started, turning to smile at Pierce, internally crowing when he saw the glint in the man’s eye. He knew all about the Pierce collection, had had a mind to … lighten the load on Pierce’s bank account for a while now, so he knew enough to be convincing as he added, “Obtaining those one or two special pieces that are nearly _impossible_ to acquire without the requisite … skillset.”

 

                Pierce hummed quietly, thinking for a moment, then said, “I may have some work for you then. If you have room in your schedule, of course.” His tone made it clear that he expected there to be room, even if James had to make it.

 

                “Of course, Mr. Pierce,” he said easily, and saw Pierce’s eyebrows inch up at that. He raised an eyebrow, as if daring the man to question how he knew who he was speaking to. Pierce remained silent.

 

                After a moment, Pierce spoke again, nodding down at the racetrack below. “Walk with me.”

 

                James really couldn’t resist that. The more time he spent with the man, the more likely he was to trust him. Not, of course, that he expected to be trusted, to Pierce he was a _thief_ after all, but Pierce needed something, and James had to make sure that _he_ was the one Pierce was going to use to retrieve it.

 

                They walked down, Pierce stopping to chat with people, James introducing himself whenever prompted, making polite conversation, until they reached the track. He spotted Peggy as they approached, standing next to her uncle. Zola was just as stout in person as he was in the photos, and his gaze as it tracked over James was calculating. James immediately didn’t like him.

 

                James smiled politely as Pierce introduced him, shook the squat man’s hand, then kissed the back of Peggy’s, as though they’d never met. Zola introduced Peggy to Pierce, and James bit back a noise of approval as she remained calm and collected – but where the hell was Steve?

 

                The sound of approaching footsteps caught James’ attention, and he glanced over, hiding his disappointment when it wasn’t Steve. He recognised the man – the eyepatch was hard to forget – as the man he’d pinched the ticket off. Oops.

 

                “Ah, Fury,” Zola said with a little smile. “There you are.”

 

                “Sorry I’m so late, Zola. I stupidly seemed to have misplaced my ticket.”

 

                He seemed to know Pierce, and Zola, so James stepped forward, offered his hand, and hoped to hell the man hadn’t picked up his handiwork earlier. “Jack Devony.”

 

                “Nick Fury, I think we bumped into each other outside,” the man said with a faint smile, shaking James’ hand.

 

                “I do apologise,” James said sincerely, placing a hand over his chest and dipping his chin just a little, the picture of sincerity.

 

                “No not at all not at all, it’s fine. I notice you’re very good with your hands,” Fury continued, and James’ eyebrows shot up. If the guy had picked up on James stealing his ticket, and caused a fuss, he’d be screwed.

 

                “Excuse me?” He said carefully, head tipping to the side slightly.

 

                “I witnessed your trick with the tablecloth,” Fury said, and James relaxed slightly, holding in a sigh of relief. “That’s brilliant! Were you once a waiter or…?” He looked expectantly at James, and James shrugged slightly, smile in place again.

 

                “Something like that,” He said politely, not knowing enough about that profession to bluff it.

 

                Before Fury could ask further, as he looked like he was about to, one of the cars came racing into the pits, stopping just beside their small group. The man inside ripped his helmet off as soon as the car stopped moving, immediately yelling at the mechanic that came rushing over.

 

                “ _I told you to put in the bigger carburettor jets and disconnect the rev limiter!_ ” The man yelled at the mechanic in Italian before throwing his helmet at the man, and James had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the temper tantrum.

 

                “ _I did as much as I thought was safe!_ ” The mechanic defended himself, and the driver pulled off his flame-retardant hood to reveal the man James’ files identified as Brock Rumlow.

 

                “ _I don’t need you to think, I need you to do as you’re told,_ ” he snapped, throwing the hood, and James shared a look with Peggy. She looked calculatingly at Rumlow and the car, before stepping forward slightly.

 

                “Have the jets been cleansed and totally rechecked for size and flow?” She asked in English, drawing attention to herself as she stepped forward, pulling her sunglasses off. The leery look Brock gave her made James’ skin crawl, but she completely ignored it in favour of peering at the engine.

 

                “Oh, so _you_ want to fix it?” the mechanic snapped.

 

                Peggy immediately replied, “I’d be delighted. I’d just need the wrench?” She raised an eyebrow when the mechanic didn’t move, handed her hat, glasses and bag to her uncle, and held out her hand in demand. “The wrench, please.”

 

                As the mechanic stepped forward, Pierce touched James’ elbow lightly, nodding back towards the tent. Despite James _really_ wanting to see Peggy work her magic on the car and rub it in the mechanic’s face, he had no real excuse to stay, so he nodded. Shifting his arm subtly out of Pierce’s grip, he stepped back slightly, holding out a hand. “After you.”

 

                As they walked back to the party tent, Pierce broke the silence with “I better give the Contessa back her watch.”

 

                “She didn’t look like she’d miss it,” James said quietly as a loud, obviously drunk group of elites walked past. Pierce barked out a laugh, then shook his head slightly.

 

                “Be that as it may, needs must. Why don’t you pop by my office tomorrow morning, and we’ll discuss you … filling my gaps.” Pierce said slowly, and James had to restrain a shudder. There was no way he could have meant it the way he’d said it, right?

 

                “I’ll try not to disappoint,” James managed, smiling slightly as Pierce nodded and walked away.

 

                God, James needed a drink. And maybe some bleach.

 

 

 

                A few hours later, James tested the door to Steve and Peggy’s room with a huff, pleased when it opened easily. He strode in, looking around the main room to find Peggy sitting on the sofa, looking unimpressed, reading a newspaper.

 

                “Where’s Captain?”

 

                Peggy waved a hand in the direction of the bathroom without looking up, and added after a moment, “He’s been in there half an hour.”

 

                James sighed, closing the door behind him, and walked over, loosening his cuffs as he did. Knocking on the bathroom door lightly, he announced himself with a “You’ve been spending a lot of time in bathrooms lately. Apparently you put someone called … Ian Boothby in hospital.”

 

                There was a beat of silence, and then Steve responded with a dark “He had soft bones. And don’t question my methods.”

 

                James snickered, then bit his lip, raising his eyes to look at Peggy.

 

                “What’s he done?” she asked cautiously.

 

                “Super Agent here had some fun with three Italian boys in the men’s room,” James drawled, and Peggy snorted.

 

                “They had it coming,” Steve said shortly.

 

                “You need to control your temper,” Peggy said, sounding more amused than anything.

 

                “Your new boyfriend is a Nazi,” Steve responded, and James turned to Peggy with raised eyebrows.

 

                “How _did_ you find Brock Rumlow?” James said after a moment, settling against one of the cabinets to wait for Steve to appear.

 

                “I think he’s an athletic, good looking gazillionaire who has offered me a job and made advances towards me,” Peggy said smugly, looking up to meet James’ gaze.

 

                “Still a Nazi,” Steve called from the bathroom, sounding exasperated.

 

                “Yes,” James interrupted before they could start arguing the topic. “Is he up to no good?”

 

                “If by no good you mean is he trying to steal me away from my fiancé? The answer is yes.”

 

                “That’s not happening,” Steve grumbled.

 

                “I don’t know what you’re upset about, you’re not even my fiancé,” Peggy called, and James settled back, pouring himself a drink from the liquor cabinet as he waited for them to stop bickering.

 

                The bathroom door popped open, and an almost eerie red light spilled out of it as Steve appeared in the doorway, looking disgruntled. “As far as he is concerned, I am. And for the purpose of the mission, I am. So, it is not happening.”

                

                James leaned forward slightly, and saw Steve’s eyes flick to him, before Steve stepped back and closed the bathroom door again. Peggy stared after him, looking like she wanted to argue, but James shook his head slightly.

 

                The door opened again, and Steve stepped out fully, photograph in his hands. He moved to James, leaning into his space, and despite the strong chemical smell on him from the makeshift darkroom, he smelled _good_. James had to take a moment to focus on what Steve was showing him.

 

                “The film I’m using has been treated to be sensitive to gamma radiation.” The photo he was holding was mostly red, a picture of Pierce’s torso, with James’ hands cutting into the frame. Steve was good, James realised. He hadn’t even realised he’d taken the photo. There were faint green traces around Pierce’s hands, especially his watch and around his nails.

 

                “These blurred lines indicate that these particular items have been in close proximity to radioactive material in the past twenty-four hours.” Steve paused, looking up at Peggy, then back at James, making sure they were both listening. “Which means they’ve succeeded in enriching the uranium.” James took the photos, pulling the next one to the top. Zola, standing with Peggy. Zola’s hands were green as well. “We need to move quicker.”

 

                “I’ll tell you what,” James drawled, thinking ahead, planning his next move. “I’m going to go sleep on this.”

 

                Steve looked up at him, eyebrows drawing in tight, then he snorted and said, “Feeling your age, old man?”

 

                James snorted, setting his now empty glass back down in the cabinet it came from. “I’m only a year older than you, _Steven_.”

 

                “A year is a long time when you reach your age,  _Buchanan_ ,” Steve shot back, and James’ eyebrows shot up. Steve snorted, looked at James steadily, little smirk on his face.

 

                “What, you really didn’t think I’d know that? You were named after one of the worst Presidents in American history,” Steve said as he set the photos down on the liquor cabinet.

 

                “God, _please_ don’t call me Buchanan,” James said after a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

                “Don’t call me Steven and I won’t,” Steve bartered, and James nodded immediately. When Steve saw that, he grinned, hands planting on his hips as he looked at James for a moment, before saying, “Bucky.”

 

                “What?” James asked, face scrunching in confusion. God, he had no idea what was going through this man’s mind half the time.

 

                “James is too formal, you sound like you’re my _father_ ,” Steve explained, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. James snorted, rolled his eyes. “And you don’t want to be called Buchanan. You don’t look like a Jim, or a Jimmy, or a Jamie, so.” Steve shrugged slightly. “Bucky.”

 

                James rolled his eyes again, turning on his heel, and heading for the door. “Call me whatever you want _Stevie_ ,” he drawled, opening the door before pausing. Before he could think about what he was actually about to say, he glanced over his shoulder, met Steve’s gaze, eyelids dropping in blatant suggestion. “Just make sure it’s short enough to scream.” With that, he walked out, leaving a gaping Steve and a chuckling Peggy behind him, and snapped the door shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they had a civil (for them) conversation! and flirting! we're getting somewhere!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> brief warning for drowning, mild violence, and feelings

As soon as the hotel was quiet, James – Bucky – dressed in his darkest, warmest clothes, shoving his feet into his soft-soled boots. He had been expecting to have to steal something for Pierce to gain his trust, so he’d brought everything with him, and _damn_ he was glad for that. He tucked his lockpicks and tools in his pocket, his vault cracker into the inner pocket of his jacket, and debated on weaponry. After a moment, he strapped a knife to his ankle, tucked into his boot, and tucked a pistol, silencer in place, into a holster at the small of his back. Once he was sure he was set, he flicked the collar of his jacket up, and slipped out of the room, descending the stairs silently.

 

                Bucky was glad for the moped, because the factory was out in the country, and it was much quieter than the car he’d been offered. Starting it, he headed away from the city, keeping an eye out for any sign of a tail. There wasn’t any that he could see, but he took back roads anyway, making his way to the Pierce Aerospace factory. When he could see the gate clearly he pulled up, parking the moped in a small copse of trees and jogging the rest of the way.

 

                Part of the compound was along the waterline, so Bucky opted to slip into a small dinghy he spotted a little way up the coast, slowly guiding it to the large, well-lit ports of the factory. Pulling into the shadow of a large fishing boat, he lashed the dinghy to the wharf and climbed up, keeping an ear out for guards. Walking at a normal pace, he avoided the pair of guards arguing over something in a truck nearby and vaulted the low fence, unsurprised when it dropped down further on the other side.

 

                Evidently, the guards were to keep people out. But the fences? They were made to keep people _in_.

 

                Bucky did a quick mental check, making sure he hadn’t hurt something when he landed, before continuing on, crouching slightly to keep out of sight. As he approached the chain link fence, he pulled out his cutters. Flicking them open, he glanced around, only to double-take when he saw a familiar shape crouched a few metres away.

 

                Of _course_.

 

                Before he could move, all of the lights flicked off, and there was a flurry of movement as guards were drawn away from their location. Huh. Bucky took a deep breath, turned on his heel, and walked slowly towards Steve, coming to a stop just beside him. Steve glanced up, raised an eyebrow.

 

                “Is this what you call ‘sleeping on it’?” He drawled, and Bucky didn’t answer, instead going for the obvious.

 

                “I suppose you’re responsible for the lights?”

 

                “You’re welcome,” Steve said smugly, looking back at the small pile of tools in front of him, and Bucky ground his teeth, shaking his head slightly.

 

                “Now they know something’s up,” he said steadily, and Steve looked up for a moment, meeting Bucky’s gaze.

 

                “Power goes out all the time, this far out from the city,” he said easily, and Bucky sighed, dropping to a crouch beside him.

 

                “I work better alone,” He said with a sigh, knowing enough about Steve to know what his response would be.

 

                “So do I,” Steve snarked back, predictably.

 

                “I’m not leaving,” James responded, rolling his eyes.

 

                Steve assessed him for a second, then turned back to his tools. “We have approximately ten minutes before the power comes back on. Do you want to sit around and _talk_ about it or-“

 

                “Okay,” Bucky cut him off, turning to the fence. “I’ll let you tag along.” He heard Steve’s annoyed huff, and hid a grin. “But it’s in and out, no mess, and nobody knows we’ve been here. And we both forget about it in the morning. Can’t have anyone thinking we’re getting along now, can we.”

 

                Steve rolled his eyes overdramatically at that, and Bucky snickered, lifting his clippers and starting in on the fence, one link at a time. “What is that?” Steve asked after a moment, and Bucky knew what he was asking about.

 

                “Super hardened boron, sharpened with a CO2 laser,” He said shortly, proud of the nifty tool but really not wanting to go into how he’d gotten it, considering it hadn’t exactly been … legal.

 

                “Hmm.” Was Steve’s response, and a light buzzing started up, then the faint pinging of the chain links being cut. Glancing over, Bucky stopped as he realised what was in Steve’s hands, and quietly cursed the KGB for actually having decent tech. Sometimes, newer was better. “CO2 laser,” Steve said without a hint of inflection, and Bucky knew Steve was laughing at him.

 

                Steve quickly cut through the links, and Bucky tucked his clippers back into his jacket with a sigh, waited for Steve to cut a gap big enough. Before Steve could say anything, Bucky shoved his shoulder towards the fence, herding him in, and they both crept through it, taking care not to make too much noise.

 

                As they headed for the nearest doors, Bucky noted the two locks, and obviously Steve realised they were there as well because his next words were, “I’ll take top.”

 

                Biting back an innuendo was harder than he’d expected, but his familiar competitive urge saved the day, and he hissed out, “I’ll take the bottom,” as though it was his decision in the first place, with the added bonus of being logical, given Steve was taller. But when they actually looked at the locks, the top one was far more complicated, and Steve dropped to his knees without a word.

 

                They huddled against the door, Bucky pulling his picks out and working quietly, Steve pulling out another one of his Russian gadgets and cramming it in the lock. Bucky had his lock open in seconds, and he tapped his foot, staring at Steve, waiting.

 

                “Problem?” He asked quietly, and Steve hushed him. Bucky glanced over Steve’s shoulder, keeping an eye on the slowly approaching guards, and tapped his foot a little faster.

 

                “Just let me do it,” He said after a moment, quietly exasperated, and Steve gave in for once, stepping back to give Bucky room. It took a few seconds for that lock to fall open as well, and they ducked in, closing the door behind them with seconds to spare. Bucky quickly relocked the door, just as they were rattled from the outside. He glanced at Steve, and Steve stared back at him, flush high on his cheeks, eyes glinting as the adrenaline rush hit him.

 

                Bucky looked over at Steve, then down at the failed tool in his hands, before letting out a noise similar to the one Steve had made at his clippers. Steve glared, and Bucky knew he’d gotten his point across. “Shall we?” He said instead, and Steve’s jaw flexed. “Loving your work, Captain,” He drawled as he picked a direction and headed in it. He had to fight a laugh as he heard Steve’s muttered Russian behind him, but it was too quiet for Bucky to catch what he’d said. He would bet he knew the gist of it though.

 

                They walked slowly through the open factory floor, and after a moment Bucky said, “You take the labs, I’ll take the floor,” with the expectation that he’d be obeyed. “Meet me on the gantry in five minutes.” Steve nodded, pulling out a silenced pistol, and Bucky added, just for the hell of it, “Try not to get lost.” Steve glared at him, but didn’t say anything, moving in the direction of the stairs.

 

                Pulling out his gamma detector, Bucky switched it on and started combing the ground floor, looking out for any hint of gamma radiation to indicate the uranium had been there. Each and every piece of equipment he went near came up clean. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Bucky headed for the gantry to wait for Steve.

 

                When Steve appeared from the direction of the labs, Bucky lifted his hands in a silent gesture of defeat. “I didn’t find anything.” He murmured when Steve got close enough. Steve shook his head, before freezing, eyes locked on something over Bucky’s shoulder. He turned slightly, spotting the guard Steve had seen, and turned back, only to be yanked backwards as Steve moved out of the way. Steve crowded him into an alcove, drawing his pistol again, and Bucky would have protested, he really would have, but Steve was warm, and kinda felt nice back to front like this. Taking care to breathe quietly, he placed his hand on Steve’s lower back, hoping to feel the movement he couldn’t see, and waited, heart in his throat, as the man stopped literally next to their hiding spot. If he turned the wrong way, they’d be obvious.

 

                Bucky felt Steve twitch slightly, tense against him, and frowned slightly. His frown deepened as Steve stepped away, following the guard as he made his way back to the room he’d come out of. “Wait, Steve-” He hissed, but Steve ignored him. Fuck.

 

                He watched curiously as Steve settled himself behind the guard, who was looking for something in a locker, and took a few almost-but-not-quite swings. What on _earth_?

 

                And then Steve’s hand hit the side of the guard’s head soundly. Expecting him to sag, Bucky took a half step forward, but the guard remained upright, head lolling to one side. Slowly, Bucky approached, and Steve held a finger to his lips, glancing back at Bucky. Then Steve tugged the guy’s sleeve up slightly, looking at something before backing off, looking at the other lockers curiously.

 

                “Why?” Was the only thing Bucky could say as he walked forward, hands raised in confusion.

 

                “I thought that was my father’s watch,” Steve said quietly, before looking at Bucky, shrugging slightly. “My mistake.”

 

                “And, uh, what exactly did you _do_ to him?” Bucky asked carefully as Steve opened the locker next to the standing guard.

 

                “In the KGB,” Steve started, pulling a small box out of the locker and peering at it. “We call it ‘The Kiss’. It takes years to master. Although he’s standing upright, he’s completely unconscious. He’ll be like this for twenty minutes. Can’t touch though.” Steve opened the box, poking at the insides curiously.

 

                As he did, the lights flickered back on, and they both froze, looking up. “Generator’s back on,” Steve murmured, shaking his head slightly. “We have to hurry.” As Bucky moved forward, he got a better look at what was in Steve’s hands, and his eyebrows shot up. Steve beat him to it though. “Why do you think they have radiation tools and suits in a _satellite_ factory?” He said quietly, holding up the box, which looked like a higher tech gamma detector now that Bucky could actually see it.

 

                Steve stepped past the unconscious guard, leaning into the locker, and Bucky didn’t know what had caught his attention until he added, “Next to a hidden button.”

 

                Steve hit the button before Bucky could say anything, and a panel of the floor slid back near-silently, which was an added bonus. No point bringing the guards down around their ears this far into the mission. They both watched the panel move warily, but when all it revealed was a flight of stairs – no guards – Bucky let out a sigh of relief.

 

                “We wouldn’t have found that without my father’s watch,” Steve mumbled, and Bucky rolled his eyes, only just refraining from mentioning that it was because of _him_ that the watch had been taken in the first place. Raising an eyebrow at Steve, he nodded towards the stairs, smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

 

                “After you.”

 

                The stairs were short and shallow, leading out into a floor that was only just below ground level. It was fairly linear, thank God, but it took them a few minutes of walking through the dark corridors to reach what they were looking for.

 

                A large, complicated looking vault door in an otherwise bare room.

 

                Good thing Bucky had seen this one coming.

 

                They approached the vault slowly, and Bucky could see Steve tensing in the corner of his eye. “Wanna have a go?” he drawled, teasing more than anything, and grinned when Steve glared at him. “No? Alright.”

 

                Absolutely milking it, Bucky kept a straight face as he held out his pistol, murmuring, “Hold this,” before digging in his pocket and holding out his lockpicking set, waving them just a little. “And uh, open these.”

 

                Steve took them with the grace of a newborn gazelle, glaring at Bucky as he did, and Bucky walked forward, examining the door of the vault. He heard the snap of a tab, and the rustling of the case being opened, but ignored it in favour of running his fingers over the centre of the vault door lightly.

 

                “This…” He started, pulling his vault cracker out of his jacket and unwrapping the cords. “Is a Swiss-built ‘Vortbinder Lanszmann 7010 model. It has dual combination locks, triple return rotators, and synchronised cylinders.” Bucky set the vault cracker over the dial, working the headphones that were attached to it into his ears. He worked the machine with the ease of long practice, a couple of turns left until he heard a click, a slow spin right, and it was **configured**. A tap of the button, and he pulled the earbuds out, leaving it to spin freely, searching for the correct combination for that lock. Turning to Steve, he gave him a little smile, catching his hand as Steve started to pull one of the tools out of his kit and shaking his head slightly.

 

                “The later models were nearly impossible to crack, but the earlier releases had a design flaw.” He started, pushing the tool Steve had pulled out back into place and taking one of the razors, testing it against a gloved finger. “It’s a flaw I intend to exploit,” he continued, grabbing a magnet sensor before turning back to the vault. Setting the magnet against the door, he slid it up slowly until it lost its grip, then searched his memory for the correct dimensions of the hidden panel.

 

                Setting his razor against the metal, he dug it in carefully, searching for the edge of the panel, before sliding it until he heard a click. The panel fell forward, and he sighed in relief, catching it and gently setting it aside. “It’s still very difficult to open, but it’s not,” he paused, twisting the combination lock that was in the hidden section. It clicked after a moment, and he stepped back, letting the vault cracker finish the job. “Impossible,” he added. There was a quiet beep, and when he looked at the cracker, two green lights blinked at him. Good. He moved to the actual handle, spun it carefully, and waited for a click. The quiet rumble of the pins pulling free greeted him, and he only just held back a gleeful noise. Just as fun as it used to be.

 

                “The designers of this model were not very good at stealing things. I however, I am.”

 

                With that he moved to the handle, gave it a tug, and the vault clicked open, the door swinging freely and silently open.

 

                “Did you deactivate the alarm?” Steve said quietly, and Bucky glanced over his shoulder at the Russian.

 

                “Model 7010 doesn’t have an alarm,” he said easily, and Steve raised an eyebrow, his look of almost awe fading into one of annoyance. He opened his mouth to respond, but the sudden high pitched screech of an alarm made his point perfectly clear.

 

                “Doesn’t have an alarm,” Steve scoffed as Bucky ran back to him, quickly packing up his tools and shoving them into his pockets. As soon as his hands were free, Steve pulled out his own pistol, turning to face the single entrance to the room. “Loving your work, _Soldier_.”

 

                Bucky took the hint and darted inside, spotting only an empty crate in the large vault. Jogging over to it, he growled under his breath when he realised it was empty, but a quick scan with his gamma detector made what _had_ been in the crate very clear. Swearing under his breath, he turned, scanning the vault quickly, and spotted a hunk of metal that looked important. Grabbing it, he ran back out to Steve, nodded at the door.

 

                “Let’s go.”

 

                As they headed back up the stairs, Bucky tucked the part into his jacket and pulled out his own pistol, only avoiding a headshot from a guard thanks to Steve grabbing the back of his jacket and yanking him into an alcove. Steve moved in front of him, firing twice, before waving his hand and heading out of the locker room, back the way they came. Steve was scarily accurate with the gun, taking out guards almost as they appeared. Bucky didn’t even have a chance to aim before Steve grabbed his arm and hustled them along the gantry, ducking behind a power unit as gunfire erupted again. Bucky growled under his breath, knowing this was completely his fault, and took his anger out on some of the wildly firing guards, taking out three before Steve grabbed his arm again.

 

                Down the stairs and across the factory floor revealed only more guards, so Bucky took over, leading the way to another flight of stairs, planning on heading for the roof. Ducking behind another power unit, Bucky took out a guard on the floor above them, before taking the momentary breather to show Steve the piece he’d found. “Does this mean anything to you?” he said, straining to be heard over the sound of automatic gunfire.

 

                Steve glanced at it, Nodded, head dipping down until his lips brushed Bucky’s ear. “It’s part of a centrifuge,” he murmured, and yeah, that was easier to hear. “Used to refine uranium.” Before Bucky could respond, Steve added, “I’m not staying here.”

 

                “Where are you gonna go?” Bucky asked with a frown, tilting his head slightly to look up at Steve, resolutely ignoring how close that put them.

 

                “Swimming,” Steve said after a moment, focusing on something behind Bucky. Bucky turned, seeing a glass window overlooking the water, and almost grinned. He fired off a couple of covering shots, and Steve ran for the window, shooting it to weaken it before crashing through it. Bucky only waited a moment before following, firing blindly behind him to give them a bit more time.

 

                He jumped, expecting to his water, and when he hit a pile of ropes lying on the dock, he let out a pained moan. The sound of a motorboat starting had him lifting his head, and _fuck_ that hurt. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’d cracked his ribs, that’s for sure. Pushing himself up on his hands, he struggled to his feet, recalibrating his arm with a flick of his wrist. A quick mental check had him downgrading his possible injuries to bruises at the worst, and he staggered forward, towards the motorboat Steve was standing in. Lunging forward, he managed to latch onto the back as Steve pulled away, and heard the faint sound of gunfire behind him.

 

                Gripping tightly with his left hand, sure of his grip despite the gloves, Bucky pushed himself upright with his right, gun still in hand. “You can drive a boat?” He managed after a moment, and he would bet money on the fact that Steve rolled his eyes. They headed around the factory unit, Steve steering them to one of the giant bay doors as alarms started to sound. As they approached, the doors started to close, and Bucky swore under his breath, dragging himself a little higher up on the back panel of the small boat.

 

                Steve steered the boat away well clear of the doors, and headed for the next one, though Bucky could hear it starting to close. The motor of another boat had him twisting, and he swore again as an armed boat pulled away from the dock and took off after them, guard standing at the two rather large automatic guns attached to the front. Swear words fell almost constantly from his lips as Bucky shifted forward, keeping his head low as Steve swerved to avoid the bullets aimed their way.

 

                “We’ve got three exits and two of them are closed,” Steve shouted over the cacophony of noise.

 

                “I would recommend turning _before_ you hit that wall,” Bucky shouted as they neared one of the concrete docks.

 

                “I don’t need your help,” Steve snapped, curving the boat carefully away from the wall at a much closer distance than Bucky would have risked. Bucky pushed up further, sliding his legs under him, and started to climb into the passenger seat, carefully switching his grip to the top of the windshield. Steve headed for the third and final bay gate, despite them having already started to close, and Bucky shook his head slightly.

 

                “You’re not going to make it,” he said loudly, concern in his voice.

 

                “Just shut up and watch me work,” Steve snapped, yanking the wheel of the boat again, turning them sharply. Just as Bucky went to switch his grip again. With a yelp, Bucky went flying, the cold water hitting him like an electric shock.

 

                By the time he’d kicked his way back to the surface, both Steve and the pursuing boat were nearly out of sight apart from the flicker of the barrels of the gun on the latter.

 

                Well fuck.

 

                Shaking the hair from his eyes, Bucky struck out, heading for the dock they had narrowly avoided, hoping to high hell that Steve didn’t come around again and make matters worse by hitting him.

 

                He didn’t, which was about the only good thing to come out of the mission in Bucky’s eyes, and Bucky climbed up onto the dock with a huff, shaking himself out before looking around, keeping an eye out for guards. They all seemed to be distracted by Steve, so Bucky was able to make the short jog to a sheltered truck without even a glimpse of the guard force. He could, however, hear the sounds of guns firing, so he assumed Steve hadn’t been caught yet, ignoring the twist in his gut at the thought of what would happen if Steve _was_ caught.

 

                Climbing into the cab of the truck, Bucky scanned the small area, looking for anything that could help him. Pulling the visor down, a set of keys fell into his hands, and he grinned, flicking around the ring until he found one that looked like it would fit the truck. It came to life with a low rumble, and through the windscreen, Bucky watched Steve jet past, still tailed by the guard boat. Bucky wondered if Steve had noticed his absence yet.

 

                A quick scan of the controls revealed the heat controls, and he switched them on, trying to warm himself up, dry himself off. He wasn’t entirely sure how they were going to get out of this, but not dying of hypothermia was a good start. The radio kicked into life as well, and Bucky hummed softly, flicking through the channels until he found one that was playing soft jazz.

 

                There was a small wicker basket sitting in the passenger seat, and Bucky couldn’t resist pulling back the small piece of cloth covering it. He took a moment to wipe the water off his face with it before tossing it to the side, looking at what it had been hiding. A bottle of expensive looking Chianti and a glass. Huh.

 

                “Don’t mind if I do,” Bucky murmured, pulling the bottle over and yanking the cork out with his teeth. He poured himself a glass, setting the bottle against the gearstick, and took a cautious sip, swishing it around his mouth. It was passable, so he kept drinking, before looking back in the basket. Another piece of cloth, which he pulled aside, and _oh_. A working man’s lunch. Thick sandwich, fruit, a tomato or two.

 

                Why not. He was probably going to be there a while, Bucky reasoned as he watched Steve go past _again_. Pulling the wrapped sandwich out of the basket, he peeled back the paper, making a soft noise of approval when he got a look at the contents, before biting into it with a pleased noise.

 

                The boats appeared in Bucky’s wing mirror, and he watched the small figures as he ate. Dread started to fill him as the guard boat got closer and closer to Steve, and the food turned to dust in his mouth as he watched a well-aimed hit set flames crawling across Steve’s little boat. Dumping the half-eaten sandwich back in the basket, Bucky yanked the truck wheel, throwing it into gear and heading towards the water with half a plan and a lot of panic that he forced down. He watched Steve’s little boat go down, scanned the water for any sign of the man, and nearly yelled when the only movement was the flicker of flames on the water, and the near-silent motor of the guard boat drifting around the wreck.

 

                As soon as the guard boat was close enough, Bucky went with his gut instinct, jamming his foot down on the accelerator and driving the truck clean off the dock. For a moment he wasn’t sure if it had worked, for a moment he was certain the truck was just going to hit the water ineffectually, but then there was a sickening crack. The truck listed sideways, and for a second time Bucky was faced with the thought that yeah, this was a pretty stupid idea. But if it worked? If it worked, he had a chance to save Steve.

 

                If Steve was still alive.

 

                The boat under him shuddered under the added weight, before starting to crack under him. The truck started to sink, and the boat with it, so Bucky grit his teeth, checked the window latches to make sure they were as wound as they were going to be, and waited.

 

                Never let anyone say that James Barnes is a patient man when it comes to those he cares about. He’d always been that way, rushing headfirst into friendships, relationships, cheering those he loved on until he was hoarse and fighting for them until he ached. He wanted more of them, and he wanted more _for_ them, and never could wait for _more_ to happen.

 

                And in that moment, when he was forced to wait to see if Steve was even alive? In that moment, he realised that Steve some way, some _how_ , had become one of those people, so few in number now.

 

                Bucky cared about Steve, and he wasn’t even sure if Steve was still _alive_.

 

                And that made him ache, tightness in his chest and heart in his throat.

 

                But he waited.

 

                The truck sank fast, considering its weight, but it was barely fast enough for Bucky. He jiggled his leg, ducking his head as the water started to crawl up the windscreen, looking for any hint of Steve in the dark water. As a last ditch attempt, Bucky switched the headlights on, breath catching at the glint of blond hair in the water in front of him.

 

                A glance to the side and Bucky made an impatient noise as he watched the water finally cover the window. He deepened his breathing, kept is slow, precise, and even, not a flicker of fear for himself in what he was doing. Everything in him was focused on Steve.

 

                As soon as he deemed the truck deep enough – as soon as he could see Steve fully in the beams of the headlights – Bucky took a deep breath, started to wind down the driver’s window. Holding his breath as the water rushed in, he waited until the cab was full before pushing his way out of the window. He gripped the wing mirror with his left hand, swinging himself onto the windshield, before using it to push off, his eyes on Steve as he swam closer.

 

                Steve wasn’t moving, probably, _hopefully_ , knocked unconscious by the wreck, and as Bucky got closer, the look on Steve’s face made his heart clench. Catching Steve under his arms, Bucky wrapped his left arm around Steve, grip unmovable as he kicked up, now focusing on the surface, and getting Steve there as quickly as possible.

 

                As they broke the surface, Bucky gasped for breath, struggling to keep their heads above water but still hefting Steve higher. Shifting his grip, Bucky curled his gloved fingers around Steve’s jaw, digging his thumb into the hinge until Steve’s mouth opened. His left arm slid down to Steve’s stomach, and he squeezed hard and fast, once, twice.

 

                Just before he did it a third time, Steve spluttered to life, coughing up water and thrashing against him. Releasing Steve’s jaw, Bucky eased his grip around the man’s middle, letting him breathe as he rubbed his fingers over Steve’s cheek. “Quiet Stevie, it’s me” he murmured, and was surprised when Steve relaxed against him, panting heavily. Something in his chest unclenched as Steve’s breaths echoed in his ears, slowly regaining their normal rhythm. Bucky started to kick them towards the dock, slow and steady, eyes flicking between where he was going and the man in his arms.

 

                “It’s okay Stevie, I gotcha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh maaan bucky's got it bad


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note the rating change!
> 
> this is mainly porn, i'm not gonna lie. i'll recap in the endnotes if nsfw isn't your jam, but there's only a smidge of plot in here.

The ride back was quiet, tense. Steve was shivering slightly, slumped against Bucky’s back, probably starting to crash from the adrenaline rush, breath still harsh, and Bucky was half concentrating on him, half on the road. Bucky took a moment, when they were on a fairly straight stretch of road, to rub his hand over Steve’s arm, wrapped around his waist firmly. Steve made a noise of confusion, and Bucky shook his head slightly, putting his hand back on the handlebar of the moped.

 

                He was refusing to think about the fact that they’d nearly been caught – Steve had nearly died. _God,_ Steve had nearly _died_. It was purely professional interest, he told himself. If Steve was hurt, the mission was jeopardised. The _world_ was jeopardised. God, that’s what he should be worried about.

 

                _Should_ , being the operative word.

 

                Bucky was starting to accept that his interest in Steve was more than professional, and more than physical as well. Beyond his sheer obstinacy, and inability to ignore challenges, Steve was a _good_ man. He was kind, he was smart as a whip, and he was talented – there was no doubt about that. He’d managed to make Bucky laugh by giving him a damned _nickname_ , and that alone was enough for Bucky to count him as a friend (and the fact that the nickname had stuck? Enough to be counted as more, but he wasn’t telling anyone that).

 

                Bucky couldn’t help but want the best for this man. He wanted to keep him safe, to keep him sane, to remind him the he was _good_ and deserving of _everything_ he had. Hell, he was deserving of more than Bucky had to give him. Deserving of what Peggy could offer him.

 

                Innuendoes aside, he wasn’t oblivious, he could see that Steve was interested in the woman. He’d have to be blind to miss that, the way they moved around each other, the way Steve watched her. Some small part of him envied her that, but he refused to let that part grow too large. It was enough to be tentative friends with the man, and partners for the mission. It was enough, he told himself. It was enough.

 

                But now? Steve had nearly died. And that threw a spanner in the works. A huge part of him wanted to berate the man for doing something so absolutely _stupid_ , and part of him wanted to hold him and never let go. Bucky told himself that only the former would happen. Somehow, he’d make sure only the former happened.

 

                As they approached the busier streets of inner-city Rome, Steve’s arms tightened around his waist, just slightly, and Bucky thought he heard the man murmur something. When they pulled to a stop at a red light, he turned slightly, looking at Steve, but the man just shook his head, an echo of earlier in the ride. Steve did, however, shift closer, but Bucky blamed that on the fact that their clothes were still damp. Steve was just cold.

 

                Pulling up in the street next to the hotel, they came screeching to a stop when Bucky spotted Pierce’s small convoy pulling up outside the hotel.

 

                Fuck.

 

                Steve leaned forward, looking over his shoulder, then froze. Then they both kicked into gear, walking the moped back so Bucky could park it. As soon as Steve was off it, Bucky jumped up, beckoning for Steve to follow, glad he had cased the place on his first day. He led the way to a service entrance and pulled out his lockpicking gear, thankfully protected from their unexpected swim by its waterproof casing, unlocking the door and swinging it open as Steve came up behind him. The snuck into the hotel carefully, and when they spotted Pierce and his crew at the front desk, made a run for the stairs.

 

                Jogging up them, Bucky was so intent on getting to his room before Pierce did that he didn’t realise Steve was still behind him. Not until the bigger man crowded up behind Bucky as he unlocked his suite door.

 

                “What are you-?” Bucky started, but Steve covered his mouth with a hand, cutting him off and making Bucky gape at him. Not that Steve could see that. They stared at each other for a moment, and Bucky tried to place the look on Steve’s face, before Steve gave him a nudge to the bathroom.

 

                “Make it look like you’ve been in the shower.” Steve whispered, before ducking into the bedroom. Bucky blinked, staring after him, before kicking into gear with a shake of his head. Tugging off his damp jacket, gloves and shirt as he went, he ditched the fabric in the far corner of the room, hiding his tools under them before he grabbed his bathrobe. Shrugging into it, he slipped into the bathroom and draped a towel over his neck, splashing his face with water and shoddily drying it, before shoving his toothbrush in his mouth and turning on the faucet.

 

                Seconds later, the front door rattled, and there was the sound of a key in the lock. Asshole must have threatened the receptionist, Bucky realised as he headed into the main room. Schooling a look of mild confusion on his face, he removed the toothbrush, wiped at his face with the towel, and asked, “Alexander? What are you doing here?”

 

                The man stopped, eyes widening in surprise, then narrowing in suspicion. Before he could speak, Bucky put two and two together, and added, “Was it you on the phone? I just missed it. What was so important that it couldn’t wait until our meeting tomorrow?”

 

                Pierce’s frown eased slightly, then all the way, as if he was forcing himself to appear calm. “Oh, I was just contacting you about a change in location, there was an electrical fault in my office today,” he said smoothly, and Bucky couldn’t be sure whether he was lying or not from his tone alone. He was _good_. “When you didn’t answer your phone I thought I’d drop in on my way home, let you know the new location. We are _very_ excited to discuss the acquisition of certain pieces,” he added with a smile, holding out a scrap of paper with an address scrawled on it. “We can’t let someone with your abilities pass us by.”

 

                Bucky smiled, accepting the paper and glancing at it before tucking it under the champagne bucket, keeping his left hand hidden in the folds of the towel. “I would invite you to stay for tea, but walking the museums always tires me out,” Bucky said with a slight shrug. “So, I’ll see you in the morning then, midday still alright for you?”

 

                When Pierce nodded, Bucky smiled, offered his right hand, which the man shook. He then proceeded to herd the other man out and close the door firmly behind him without letting him touch anything. Could never be too careful, and he’d already been bugged once.

 

                When he was sure Pierce – and the guards that had probably been outside – had left, he turned towards the bedroom, eyebrows raising. “You can come out now.”

 

                After a moment, Steve emerged, tucking his pistol away as he did, and Bucky rolled his eyes. “Didn’t trust me to handle this, did you?”

 

                Steve raised an eyebrow back, spread his hands slightly. “You can never be too careful.”

 

                Bucky snorted, approached Steve with a slight shake of his head. “You should go warm up, we can’t have you getting sick. I’ll yell at you tomorrow.”

 

                Steve snickered at that, moved up to Bucky, but didn’t move past. “Alright,” he said, and there was a slight nervousness in his tone. Bucky’s brows furrowed, and his head tipped sideways slightly in confusion.

 

                “I’ll warm up.”

 

                Bucky barely had a chance to respond before Steve’s hands shot out, curling into the lapels of the bathrobe. A slight tug had him overbalancing, and he stumbled forward, hands landing on Steve’s chest to steady himself.

 

                “What-” Bucky’s words were cut off with Steve’s lips on his, and- _oh_.

 

                He was kissing Steve Rogers.

 

                How about that.

 

                His initial non-response had Steve pulling back slightly, flushing, starting to babble out an apology, that deep voice rough and strained, but Bucky cut him off before he could finish a single word. There was no way he was missing out on whatever Steve was willing to give him because of a little misunderstanding. Bucky slid his hands up Steve’s chest to his shoulders, pulled him in, and covered Steve’s mouth with his. It was a little rough, and at a terrible angle, because _fuck_ Steve was taller than him, and their teeth clacked together. Steve’s teeth dragged over Bucky’s lip, and then Steve tilted his head down, moving a hand to cup Bucky’s face.

 

                And then things clicked into place. Steve’s mouth fell just right over his own, and his chapped lips scraped over Bucky’s, making him shiver. Bucky sucked lightly on Steve’s lower lip, making him gasp quietly, and Bucky took the opportunity to slip his tongue into Steve’s mouth.

 

                The hand still on Bucky’s chest loosened, stroked the material flat, before dropping to Bucky’s hip and pulling him in. Bucky stepped closer, then kept walking, herding Steve backwards. One hand dropped to Steve’s hip to guide him, the other dragged up into his hair, keeping Steve’s mouth right where it was. Steve’s back hit the dividing wall, and Steve broke the kiss with a gasp, eyes meeting Bucky’s. There was a flicker of uncertainty, and Bucky immediately made to step back, but Steve’s hand on his hip tightened, pulled him back in.

 

                “I don’t want to push you,” Bucky murmured, looking up at Steve. “I want to give you everything you want to take, but I need to know what that is.”

 

                Steve smiled slightly, thumb tracing Bucky’s lips. “I want you to kiss me. Then, I want … I want you to…” Steve trailed off, flushing, and looked away for a moment. Bucky hid a grin, realising that for all Steve’s confidence in the field, he was actually _embarrassed_ about asking. But, he’d definitely been wrong in thinking that hesitation meant that Steve was rethinking this.

 

                “Hey, look at me Stevie,” Bucky murmured, and he waited until Steve’s eyes met his. “You want me to touch you?” He offered, and Steve nodded slightly. “Show me where,” he murmured, and Steve curled his fingers around both of Bucky’s wrists, bringing them to his chest. Bucky splayed his fingers over the damp cotton and dug his fingers in slightly, and Steve made a soft noise, pleased. Steve’s hands nudged down, and Bucky took over, dragging his hands slowly down over Steve’s stomach. “Here?” he asked softly, and Steve nodded slightly. Bucky kept going, hands splitting apart to cup Steve’s hips. “Here?” At Steve’s nod, he squeezed slightly, and Steve’s resulting shiver made him grin. Bucky moved one hand forward, Steve’s fingers still loosely around his wrist, until his little finger just brushed Steve’s crotch, the fabric starting to pull a little tighter than it had before. “Hmmm … here?”

 

                Steve nodded, eyes wide, and then pushed Bucky’s hand that little bit further, until Bucky was fully cupping him in his pants. “There?” Bucky murmured with a grin, and Steve moaned softly when Bucky squeezed, just slightly.

 

                “And,” Steve managed, head falling back to thunk against the wall. He didn’t even wince. “And, further,” he breathed, eyes on Bucky, as if that one bit of information would have Bucky pulling back, chasing him off. Bucky just grinned wider, fingers slipping down, following the seam of Steve’s pants until he could press just lightly behind Steve’s cock. Steve jerked slightly, and Bucky grinned, raising an eyebrow as if he didn’t know.

 

                “There? Or…” Bucky removed his hand completely, grinning wider at Steve’s noise of disagreement, before planting both of his hands firmly on Steve’s ass. Perfect ass, really. Just enough for Bucky to have to stretch his fingers, firm enough to bounce a nickel off. Bucky squeezed again, a little harder. He leaned in, until his lips brushed Steve’s, and his eyes flicked up to meet the blond’s. “Here?”

 

                Steve answered by grabbing Bucky’s shoulders and closing the distance between them, slanting his mouth over Bucky’s. Bucky hummed into his mouth, squeezing his ass again, before sliding his hands up Steve’s chest again. He quickly undid Steve’s jacket, shoved at it, and Steve shimmied out of it, before getting his hands on the belt of Bucky’s robe. He tugged it open, worked his hands inside, and _yeah_ Steve’s hands felt better on his skin.

 

                Bucky made a pleased noise as Steve ran his fingers up his stomach, his own hands pausing for a moment as Steve explored. He didn’t seem to notice the scarring, or at least, he didn’t draw attention to it, and the metal against his skin didn’t seem to bother him at all. When Steve’s fingertips grazed his nipples, Bucky growled under his breath, bunching Steve’s shirt in his hands and pushing it up. “Off,” he growled, pulling back from the kiss, and Steve pulled back slightly, yanking it over his head and tossing it aside.

 

                Bucky barely had time to look, and _god_ he wanted to look, before Steve was pulling him back in, and yeah, touching was a pretty good substitute.

 

                Dragging his hands from Steve’s shoulders down, Bucky took a moment to cup Steve’s chest, and his mouth grazed Steve’s ear when he leaned in. “God Stevie, your tits,” he murmured, and Steve shoved at his shoulder.

 

                “Ain’t a lady,” Steve growled under his breath, chin dipping down.

 

                Before Steve could continue, Bucky tugged at his earlobe with his teeth, and shifted his knee. Rubbing his thigh against Steve’s dick, he released Steve’s ear to murmur “I know, trust me I know. But I just wanna …”

 

                He trailed off, and Steve made a questioning noise, opening his mouth to ask. Whatever he was going to say turned into an abrupt yelp as Bucky dropped his hands to Steve’s thighs and _lifted_. Steve clung to his shoulders, legs wrapping around Bucky’s waist instinctively, and Bucky grinned. Pressing Steve more firmly against the wall, he let his left arm take most of Steve’s weight and cupped one of Steve’s pecs again with the other hand. Hefting Steve up a little higher, Bucky dropped his head, pressing a kiss to Steve’s throat, his collarbone, Steve's skin tasting faintly of brine, before sinking his teeth into the muscle of Steve’s chest.

 

                He didn’t bite hard, but the move had Steve moaning, arching up and rocking his hips forward. Bucky growled softly, licked the faint bite mark – it’d fade in a few hours, max – then dragged his lips down to Steve’s nipple. Steve’s legs tightened around him, his fingers clenched on Bucky’s shoulders, and a little breathy “ _ah!_ ” escaped him. Bucky hummed at the response, licked the hardening nub, then sucked, careful.

 

                Steve moaned again, and one hand curled into Bucky’s hair, gripping tightly as Bucky toyed with first one nipple, then the other. When Bucky was content that they were sufficiently red, slightly swollen, he nuzzled his way back up to Steve’s lips, kissing him hard. “Pretty tits,” he said with a grin, teasing Steve more than anything, and Steve growled under his breath. “Wanna get my hands all over you,” Bucky continued, voice dropping slightly, and Steve’s breath caught. “Make sure they didn’t fucking hit you,” he growled, hand sliding down Steve’s side. His fingers shook slightly, and he grit his teeth. He didn’t _want_ to remind Steve, he didn’t want to break this tentative _whatever it was_ between them, but he couldn’t stop the hoarse, almost distraught whisper. “God, _Steve_ … you could have _died-_ ”

 

                Steve cut him off, kissing him fast and hard. “I didn’t. I didn’t, I’m here, I’m okay, _we’re_ okay,” he murmured, planting kisses over Bucky’s cheeks, jaw, lips. When Steve’s lips hit his again, Bucky gripped Steve’s hair, holding him in place as he kissed the man breathless.

 

                “You saved my ass,” Steve mumbled when their lips parted, gasping for breath. “Now do you want it or not?” Before Bucky could pull back, because _was Steve doing this to repay him?_ Steve shook his head slightly. “Because I _really_ want you to”

 

                Bucky made a strained noise under his breath, because _fuck_ he hadn’t thought Steve would want that. He’d thought maybe his hands, maybe his mouth, if he was _lucky_ , but _God_ he was luckier than he’d thought. And who was he to refuse Steve when he asked like that?

 

                Hiking Steve a little higher against the wall, Bucky kissed him again, fucking his tongue into Steve’s mouth as he shifted his hand, tugging at Steve’s belt. It fell open quickly under his hands, and he stroked the skin just above the waistline just to pull a whine out of Steve. “Hmmm when you ask like that,” Bucky murmured, and Steve bit his lip in retaliation, shifting his hips up against Bucky’s hand. Bucky gave in, tugging at the button before nudging the fly down, working his fingers inside.

 

                Steve gasped when Bucky cupped his dick, stroked lightly through the fabric of his underwear, and Bucky grinned against his lips. “Something you want?” he murmured, and Steve snorted, tugging a little harder on Bucky’s hair.

 

                “Touch. Me.” Steve demanded breathlessly, and Bucky laughed softly, squeezing just a little.

 

                “I am, Stevie,” he murmured, and Steve growled, mouth dropping to Bucky’s throat. He was much less forgiving, sucking hard at the join of his shoulder and neck, biting the spot, until Bucky knew there’d be a lasting mark. When Steve bit his shoulder a little harder, Bucky took the hint and withdrew his hand to shove Steve’s pants off his hips. “Up,” he murmured, and Steve lifted slightly, so Bucky could work the fabric down to his knees. With some awkward manoeuvring, they managed to get Steve’s pants off, dumped on the floor, and Bucky wrapped his fingers around Steve’s cock, stroking slowly.

 

                Steve’s head fell back, and he tried to take a deep breath, but it stuttered as Bucky rubbed his thumb over the bundle of nerves under the head, before sliding his thumb up. Steve’s eyes closed, and Bucky grinned, leaning in and dragging his teeth over Steve’s chin, just enough to get his attention again.

 

                “You wanna-"

 

                Steve cut him off with a gasped “Fuck me, Barnes,” and yeah, Bucky was okay with that plan.

 

                “In the bedroom, there’s-"

 

                “Pants pocket.” Steve cut him off again, lowering his head slightly, glaring a little, as if daring Bucky to say anything.

 

                “Eager,” he managed, balancing Steve carefully and slowly crouching until he could get his fingers into the pocket, pulling out the small packets. “Looking through my drawers were you?” He murmured, recognising them, smirk pulling at his lips. The smirk grew as he noted the condom amongst them, and he raised an eyebrow at Steve before tucking the condom and one of the packets of lube in his own pocket for safekeeping.

 

                “Maybe,” Steve managed as Bucky straightened again, and he started pulling at Bucky’s pants determinedly. Bucky left him to it, getting lube on his fingers and his right hand around Steve’s ass again, nudging the tip of a finger against Steve’s hole.

 

                “This what you want?” Bucky purred against Steve’s lips, nipping at the lower before kissing him again. Steve’s hand stuttered on Bucky’s fly, and a shaky noise escaped his mouth, only to be caught by Bucky’s. Bucky rubbed his finger back and forth, pressing a little harder with each pass, until Steve abandoned Bucky’s pants in favour of just shoving his hand inside them.

 

                Bucky bit his lip when Steve finally touched him, his own hand stilling as he groaned in the back of his throat. Steve whined demandingly, wiggling his ass slightly, and a strained laugh caught in Bucky’s throat as Steve started to stroke him. It was at an awkward angle because of the clothing, and the way they were pressed together, but Bucky wasn’t sure he’d had better _ever_ , purely because it was _Steve_.

 

                Taking the hint, Bucky stroked his finger over Steve’s hole one last time before edging the tip of one finger into him. Steve gasped, tensing slightly, and Bucky stilled, not wanting to hurt him. But Steve just pushed back against him, mumbling “More” against Bucky’s shoulder as his head dropped forward. Taking him at his word, Bucky kept pressing in, kissing the edge of Steve’s jaw. When Steve had fully taken his finger he paused, coaxing Steve’s head up with his chin so he could kiss him properly.

 

                Bucky murmured encouragement under his breath when their lips parted, and Steve shifted slightly on his finger, before nodding slightly. Bucky took Steve at his word, coaxing him open with a single finger, then nudging in a second when Steve demanded it, breathless and trembling.

 

                When Steve felt looser around his fingers, Bucky twisted his hand a little, seeking. At first there was nothing, then Steve jerked like he’d been hit by lightning, his moan low and broken. “There we go,” Bucky hummed, rubbing his fingers over the spot again, drawing another moan out of Steve.

 

                “God, _Buck_ ” Steve gasped when he did it again, and his hand started moving again, stroking up Bucky’s cock, then over his stomach, up his chest. “C’mon, c’mon _c’mon_.”

 

                Bucky hushed him, drawing his fingers out, then pressing in with three, fucking him with the digits, dragging them over Steve’s prostate every few strokes. It didn’t take long to have Steve whimpering, begging brokenly. When his eyes weren’t screwed shut they were glassy, pupils swollen and lips parted as Steve gasped for breath.

 

                “Please … _please_ fuck, God Bucky c’mon gimmie,” Steve managed, and Bucky grinned, kissing the words off his lips.

 

                “I’ve got you Stevie,” Bucky murmured, pulling the condom out of his pocket. Steve made a noise at the crackle of packaging, and Bucky leaned forward, pressing Steve firmly against the wall with his hips. With a bit of fumbling, he managed to get his pants down his thighs, and rolled the condom on with a soft moan. He stroked himself slowly, before grabbing the lube from his pocket and slicking himself.

 

                “You want it?” he murmured again, but there was a serious note in it, because _God_ if Steve said no, he’d walk away. God help him, but he’d walk away.

 

                Steve seemed to realise that, and blinked, almost dazed, finding Bucky’s gaze with his own. He nodded slightly, then managed “Yeah … please, I want it. Want you.”

 

                Bucky leaned in, unable to stop himself, drawing Steve into a kiss as he lined himself up, holding his breath as he pushed forward. Steve moaned into his mouth, and Bucky slowed, wiping his hand on his pants before stroking it up Steve’s side. Steve rolled his hips slightly, and Bucky took it as a hint, lifting Steve a little higher and pressing the rest of the way into him. He stilled again when he bottomed out, forcing his eyes open again – _when had they closed?_ – and looking at Steve.

 

                God, Steve was a vision, head tilted back, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open, breath coming hard and fast. Bucky couldn’t help it, leaning in and covering Steve’s mouth with his, kissing him desperately, so damned _needily_ he barely recognised himself in the action. Steve responded slowly but surely, mouth slack against Bucky’s before he reacted, pressing into the kiss as he rolled his hips down, pressing Bucky even deeper into him.

 

                Bucky groaned softly, catching Steve’s hip in his free hand, holding him still, until Steve bit his lip, whined “Move.”

 

                Shifting his left hand to Steve’s other hip, Bucky lifted Steve up and off him, before pulling him back down, nice and slow. When Steve’s only reaction was to moan and grip Bucky a little tighter, he did it again.

 

                Within a minute Bucky had Steve pinned to the wall fully, mouth over his as he held Steve still, fucked into him hard, forcing soft “ _ah!_ ” noises out of Steve with every thrust. He rolled his tongue against Steve’s as Steve hooked his legs a little higher, and then Steve was crying out, hands flying to Bucky’s shoulders and gripping _hard_.

 

                Bucky grinned, hair flopping into his face as he pulled his head back slightly, and moved just that little bit harder, holding the new angle with everything he had. Steve all but writhed under the constant stimulation, each thrust hitting, or scraping past, his prostate.

 

                “Bu-Buh-Bucky,” he managed, eyes widening, meeting Bucky’s as one of Steve’s hands dropped, fisted his cock. “Buck I’m- I’m  gon-.”

 

                Bucky cut his words off with a hard kiss, before breathing “Come for me Steve,” and Bucky was stunned when Steve _did_. Steve completely unravelled under him, body tightening almost impossibly around Bucky’s as he muffled a shout against Bucky’s shoulder, thick splatters of come hitting Steve’s stomach, his hand, Bucky’s stomach.

 

                With Steve looking like he did, with Steve _tight_ like he was, clenching and releasing like he was, Bucky didn’t have a choice, really. His thrusts stuttered as the heat that had been building in his spine shattered, fingers clenching almost painfully on Steve’s hips as he thrust once, twice more, before coming with a shudder.

 

                Bucky slumped forward, head landing on Steve’s shoulder, body pressing Steve to the wall, as pleasure coursed through him, and it was only Steve’s soft whimper that had him pushing up slightly on shaky arms.

 

                Steve’s lips met his, softer this time, and Bucky hummed into the kiss, lazily dragging it out until Steve wriggled his hips slightly in Bucky’s grip.

 

                “Bed,” Steve mumbled, sounding hoarse, and _yeah, okay, that was a good idea_. Bucky carefully pushed off the wall, taking Steve’s full weight again, and stumbled in the direction of the bed. He nearly tripped on the first step, steps cut short by the pants around his knees, but he managed, falling onto the mattress with Steve on top of him.

 

                “Fuck,” he breathed, walking a hand up Steve’s spine, and Steve mumbled wordlessly, burying his face against Bucky’s chest. With a soft laugh, Bucky pushed them a little further up the bed before rolling Steve onto his back. Pulling out, he quietened Steve’s noise of discomfort with a soft kiss before disposing of the condom and heading to the bathroom on wobbly legs.

 

                Bucky stared at himself in the mirror for a full minute, the fact that he had just fucked Steve Rogers still absolutely _flooring_ him. Running a finger over the already forming bruise at the crook of his neck, Bucky bit his lip, before grabbing a washcloth and wiping himself off. He rinsed it, then headed out to Steve, legs a little steadier as he did. Crawling onto the bed, he murmured Steve’s name in warning when the man didn’t react. When Steve just hummed in response, Bucky gripped his knee carefully, then set to wiping him clean when Steve just smiled a little.

 

                When Steve was clean, Bucky threw the cloth to the side, uncaring, and crawled up the bed, flopping onto his stomach next to Steve. Bucky smiled when Steve immediately rolled towards him, and tipped his head to the side, meeting Steve’s mouth in a soft kiss that dragged on for minutes before he finally pulled back. Steve didn’t say anything, just smiled and tucked himself against Bucky’s side, and Bucky sat up briefly to tug the blankets over them. Pulling Steve into his arms, Bucky was nearly asleep when he heard, _thought_ he heard, Steve whisper “Thank you,” against his shoulder. But he was asleep before he could ask _what for_.

 

 

 

                Bucky woke to a vague feeling of _rightness_ , and he didn’t even bother to lift his head off the pillow, just nudged closer to the warm body in bed next to him. Huh, he didn’t usually let people stay over, but there was no doubt that there was another person pressed against him, skin to skin.

 

                He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, turned his head, lips pressing against a rough cheek. Been a while since he’d had a fella in his bed too, he realised, and he smiled slightly, running a hand down the man’s back. With a little push, they were rolling, Bucky shifting on top of the man, settling between his legs. Flicking his hair out of his face with a slight toss of his head, Bucky glanced at the curtains, a pleased noise catching in his throat when he saw it was still dark out. Good. Plenty of time left. His gaze slid down, tracing over the face of the man below him in the soft light coming through from the living room, and his eyes widened in recognition. Shit.

 

                The shock brought back the events of the night before in vivid detail, and he could’ve punched himself. God, what had he been _thinking?_ Risking the mission like that? Risking _Steve_ like that? If they got caught-

 

                Steve stirred under him, eyes sliding open lazily, then he stretched slowly. He tracked Bucky with eyes half closed, already looking more aware than Bucky felt.

 

                “You’re worrying,” Steve mumbled, voice scratchy with sleep. “Stop worrying.”

 

                Bucky shook his head, opened his mouth, and Steve pressed a finger to Bucky’s lips. “No, shh. Stop worrying. I’ll go back to my room soon an’ everyone will be none the wiser,” he murmured, and Bucky remained stiff, scanning Steve’s face, cast in shadow but completely, openly honest.

 

                Then Steve’s finger traced the edge of Bucky’s lip, catching on the corner, and Bucky’s head lowered slightly, lips parting. Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he’d turned his head just slightly, sucked the tip of Steve’s finger into his mouth. Steve’s eyes widened, and one corner of Bucky’s mouth lifted up unto a smile. God, they hadn’t had a chance to do this, had they? They’d been rushed, desperate, and hadn’t had the chance to actually _enjoy_ each other. What a goddamned _tragedy_. If this was the last chance they were going to get, Bucky was going to make it worth it. Screw everything else.

 

                Tipping his head just slightly, Bucky scraped his teeth over the pad of Steve’s finger, then sucked lightly, and Steve gasped softly, watching Bucky avidly. Bucky curled his tongue around the digit, head falling forward to take more of Steve’s finger. He imitated what he wanted to do lower, working his tongue over Steve’s finger, sucking firmly, and when he pulled back slowly, teeth catching on the callouses on Steve’s finger, Steve’s mouth fell open. Steve pulled his finger back, curled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, and tugged him forward, slanting his mouth over Bucky’s, kissing him deeply.

 

                Bucky didn’t let it drag out, pulling back after a minute and kissing Steve’s chin, then along his jaw. “Gorgeous,” he murmured, and felt more than saw Steve’s flush. Pressing kisses down the arch of Steve’s throat, Bucky let one hand proceed his mouth, thumbing over one of Steve’s nipples. He hummed when Steve moaned, nipped at Steve’s collar before taking his other nipple between his teeth. Pinching it lightly, Steve groaning above him, Bucky pressed hard with his thumb as he sucked firmly, and Steve arched under him, pushing his chest up against Bucky.

 

                Bucky spent more time on Steve’s chest than he had his mouth, but moved on quickly, licking his way down Steve’s chest, nibbling at the edge of the furrow of Steve’s hip. Steve’s fingers tightened in his hair, tugging demandingly, and Bucky laughed quietly, licking just above his belly button. “Shh,” he murmured, grinning when Steve’s dick bumped his chin as Steve’s hips shifted under him.

 

                “Want something?” Bucky murmured with a grin, and Steve growled quietly, fingers tugging again in Bucky’s hair. Dropping his chin lightly, when he spoke he made sure Steve felt the heat of his breath right against the head of his dick. “This, maybe?”

 

                He didn’t wait for Steve to answer, curling his fingers around the base to keep it steady before wrapping his lips around Steve’s pretty cock. Steve groaned, louder this time, and Bucky sucked lightly in retaliation when Steve’s grip in his hair tightened.

 

                “Please,” Steve breathed, and Bucky looked up at him. His eyes dragged over Steve’s face, taut, eyes screwed shut and mouth hanging open. Keeping his eyes on the other man, Bucky pressed a little further before sucking hard, and Steve made a noise like he’d been winded. Taking that as a good sign, Bucky got to work, taking Steve in deeper, lifting up, then bobbing deeper again, over and over until his nose brushed Steve’s pelvis, and he had to pull up to take a gasping breath. He was back on Steve within a moment, licking over him before taking him in again, swallowing him down over and over until Steve’s hand in Bucky’s hair became urgent, tugging Bucky up and off.

 

                “Nononono not yet you- I’m- I want you in me.” Steve gasped, and Bucky grinned, pleased he had gotten to Steve so badly.

 

                “Yeah?” Bucky murmured, and Steve nodded, sharp and desperate.

 

                With a hum, Bucky pressed a kiss to Steve’s thigh, pushed his legs further apart with a hand. His head dipped down, but Steve’s fingers tightened, holding his head still.

 

                “If you do that m’not gonna last,” Steve breathed with a little shake of his head, and Bucky regarded him carefully, before deciding to be nice.

 

                “You’re missin’ out,” Bucky murmured, pushing up and crawling up Steve’s body. “I’m told I’m good at that.”

 

                “Next time,” Steve mumbled, tugging Bucky into a kiss while he was still trying to work out what Steve meant by that.

 

                “Please- _fuck me_ Bucky,” Steve said, eyes widening and focusing on Bucky slowly, carefully. “Now, please.”

 

                Bucky growled “Demanding,” under his breath, and Steve laughed breathlessly, arching his back as Bucky’s gaze dragged over him.

 

                “You know it.”

 

                Without further comment, Bucky leaned over Steve, grabbing lube from the stash in the side cabinet, tearing a packet open and coating his fingers. Without teasing this time, he worked his right hand between Steve’s legs, pressing a finger against Steve’s hole. With a soft gasp from Steve, it slid in easily, Steve still somewhat stretched from earlier. Keeping that in mind, Bucky pushed another finger in fast, and Steve jerked in surprise, but relaxed quickly under Bucky’s hand stroking over his chest. When he brushed Steve’s prostate, testing, Steve jerked again, then shook his head, mumbling “Wanna- want you in me,” and Bucky grinned.

 

                “Okay Stevie,” he murmured, carefully nudging a third finger alongside the two already in Steve, working them in and out of Steve fast but carefully.

 

                Before long Steve was pushing at his shoulder, mumbling “Okay, okay m’ready c’mon,” and Bucky held out for a minute longer before Steve’s whine hand him snapping into action. Fishing in the drawer again, he found a condom, rolling it on before slicking himself fast.

 

                Lining himself up, Bucky pushed Steve’s thigh up, and Steve splayed his other leg out as well, showing himself off, waiting. Bucky pressed his left hand to Steve’s stomach, watching Steve’s face as he eased himself in.

 

                Steve’s face screwed up, and his mouth fell open, and Bucky found it almost _endearing_. Before he could berate himself for the thought, Steve was canting his hips, taking him deeper, and Bucky bit his lip to stifle a groan. Steve reached up, catching the back of Bucky’s neck, and pulled him in. Steve’s breath was hot on his lips for a moment, and their eyes met. There was something in Steve’s eyes, a flicker that Bucky couldn’t place, before Steve’s eyes were closing, and Steve’s mouth was on his.

 

                Bucky rocked his hips just a little as they kissed, left hand sliding over skin he could barely feel, and caught Steve’s gasp in his mouth when he nudged a little deeper still. Steve hooked his legs around Bucky’s waist, pulling him in deeper, and didn’t let up on the kiss. Not that Bucky was complaining.

 

                Dropping his hand to Steve’s hip when Steve nodded, mumbled “Move,” into his mouth, Bucky drew back, just a little, and rocked forward again, grinning at Steve’s moan. Steve’s heel nudged his ass, so he did it again, pulling out a little farther, pressing back in steadily, building up until he had a steady rhythm.

 

                Steve’s hands weren’t still, dragging up over Bucky’s chest, down his sides, gripping his shoulders hard before clawing down his back when Bucky’s angle was just right. Bucky’s breath hitched when he did, tilting Steve’s hips a little until Steve was gasping with every thrust, clenching and releasing around Bucky, fingers scoring furrows into Bucky’s back. Soft gasps became louder pleas, breathy sighs became demanding whines and choked off whimpers.

 

                “Bucky c’mon, fuck Bucky I’m gon- I’m gonna-"

 

                Bucky grit his teeth, dragging his hand over Steve’s hip and wrapping his fingers around Steve’s cock, going straight past teasing and into a steady rhythm, not able to last much longer himself. “C’mon Stevie,” he murmured, voice hoarse, eyes meeting Steve’s. “Show me how pretty you are when you come.”

 

                Steve whimpered at that, head shaking in more of a weak side-to-side than an actual shake, legs tightening around Bucky’s waist. His voice deteriorated, until the only sounds he was making were soft “ _uh…uh…uh_ ” noises that got louder, higher, as Bucky sped up. Bucky’s fingers tightened on Steve’s hip, metal digging unforgivingly into skin, and he dragged his thumb over the slit of Steve’s cock with a soft growl.

 

                “Steve,” he managed, and Steve’s eyes opened, dragging across his face before meeting Bucky’s gaze. “Come,” he said firmly, eyes narrowing slightly on Steve’s, and Steve tensed, a broken noise falling from his lips as he did just that, coming sticky and wet over Bucky’s hand and his own stomach. The look on Steve’s face as he came, the way Steve’s nails dug into Bucky’s shoulders, the way he got impossibly tighter around Bucky’s cock, it all had Bucky groaning, hips snapping forward barely a handful of times before he was coming, shuddering above Steve as he finally let go.

 

                At first, there was only the sound of their breath, ragged and out of synch, before Bucky slumped, left hand – clean hand – finding its way to Steve’s jaw, tilting his head up for a kiss. It was sloppy, neither of them having the energy to really make an effort, but Steve made a content noise, and Bucky was inclined to agree.

 

                After whiling long minutes away kissing slowly, their bodies cooled, became tacky where their stomachs met, and Bucky’s mouth drifted to the side, over Steve’s cheek. With a last kiss to Steve’s skin, he pushed up and back, pulling out and, rubbing his hand over Steve’s stomach when the man mumbled in discomfort. He headed for the bathroom, pulling the condom off and wiping himself down with a cloth before returning to Steve, cleaning him up with gentle hands.

 

                He tossed the cloth to the side, crawled back in next to Steve, who curled back against him with a happy murmur. Unwilling to broach the subject of what would happen in the morning, Bucky just tucked Steve closer, kissing his forehead as Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky.

 

                Bucky was almost asleep when he felt pressure against his shoulder, light but steady, and he blinked his eyes open blearily to look down at Steve. Steve didn’t react to the eyes on him, continued tracing the rugged scars that covered Bucky’s skin for another minute before leaning forward, pressing his lips to the join of metal and skin. Bucky’s breath caught, and Steve looked up at him, sad smile on his face. He didn’t say anything, just leaned up and kissed Bucky lightly, before tucking his head against Bucky’s shoulder, breathing evening out slowly but surely. Bucky watched him for a moment, brushing his fingers through Steve’s hair lightly, before sighing and kissing the top of his head, closing his eyes once more.

 

                They’d talk in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> recap:
> 
> bucky realises he's falling for steve, decides he's going to hide it because steve can totally do better (see: peggy)  
> steve follows bucky up to his room and hides while bucky, as per the movie, deals with pierce  
> words are traded with pierce about the meeting the next day, pierce making up an excuse for showing up (venue change)  
> steve makes the first move, cementing in bucky's mind that he at least wants a physical relationship  
> porn happens  
> bucky wakes up in the middle of the night, starts to berate himself over risking the mission to bone steve  
> steve reassures him  
> more porn happens  
> there's a tender moment with steve worshipping bucky's scars around where the arm joins his shoulder, but steve is almost completely unfazed by it throughout the whole chapter
> 
> next up, more plot, the boys avoid discussing what happened, and peggy has to kick them until they get their heads outta their asses


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one really fought with me, so sorry about the delay. it's also a much longer chapter, so have fun i guess?
> 
> please note the updated tags!!
> 
> in this chapter, as fitting with the movie, bucky gets drugged and captured by the bad guys and tortured with the full intent to kill. there is also hinting at concentration camps, and the terrible things that happened there, as well as animal abuse and abuse of medical patients. i didn't put too much more than was in the movie itself, but there are mentions of all of these things.
> 
> additionally, zola is killed in this chapter, and rather nastily too, as in the movie. so if character death, or the thought of burning/electrocution triggers you, please skip at least that section.
> 
> this section begins with the line "When Bucky blinked open his eyes, Pierce’s face filling his field of vision made him jerk back."  
> and the torture scene ends with the line "Staring ahead, he tuned out for a moment, watching a guard walk past the big double doors as Zola kept talking."
> 
> all mentions of abuse/world war two happens in this section, and only occurs when zola is talking, so if that's the only bit that you wish to skip, it begins with “The boy discovered he had quite a talent for eliciting these feelings in others..." and ends with "Then it disappeared, the absence of stimulus almost as painful as its onset." 
> 
> if electrocution/death triggers you at all, please skip from that first starting line to the end of the chapter, i will recap the important plot details in the end notes.

They didn’t talk the next morning.

 

                To be fair, Steve had tried to. When they’d woken up tangled in each other, they’d traded lazy kisses for a moment, before Steve pushed up out of bed, disappeared into the bathroom. Bucky had heard the shower come on, but had just lounged in bed, still trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. He still hadn’t, not really, by the time Steve had come out, wandered around the suite looking for his clothes and tugging them into place.

 

                Then he’d sat on the edge of the bed, looked at Bucky with a cautiously optimistic expression, and opened his mouth, but Bucky had cut him off. _Peggy’ll be worried about you_ , he’d said. _You should go before anyone’s up to see you leave_ , he’d added. It was logical, they weren’t supposed to know each other, and Steve was supposed to be engaged. Steve being caught leaving the room of another man in the early morning would be suspicious at best.

 

                The flicker of hurt in Steve’s eyes had given Bucky pause, and he’d finally given in on one front. Sitting up, he’d pressed his lips to Steve’s lightly, whispered, _when this is over, we’ll talk. I promise._ Steve had nodded, kissed him again, and left without a word.

 

                That had been hours ago.

 

                Bucky hadn’t been under the impression that Steve wouldn’t tell Peggy, they were close, despite not knowing each other for long. He wasn’t that naïve. What he hadn’t expected was Peggy to take a moment, when Steve had gone back down to their room to grab something he’d forgotten, to threaten, sweet as sugar, to castrate him if he looked at Steve again without the intention of keeping him.

 

                “I know your type, James Barnes,” Peggy said evenly, the edge of a smile visible on her lips. “You aren’t one to stick around. But Steve? Steve’s one you stick around for. And if you go back to him without the intention of giving him that?” She smiled, and it wasn’t a nice one. Bucky had no idea how such a small woman could be so scary in a single moment. “I’m gonna make sure you don’t have a chance at _anyone_. You hear me?”

 

                Bucky blinked, reading between the lines, and nodded without hesitation. He did manage to keep his hands where they were, and not reflexively cover his junk like he was sorely tempted to. This woman was vicious, and he was pretty sure that she wasn’t _just_ a mechanic.

 

                When Steve returned in that moment, he looked between the two of them, and Peggy just smiled slightly, said, “Find what you were looking for?”

 

                The conversation shifted back to the mission, to what Peggy had to do, but Bucky couldn’t help his mind slipping back to what Peggy had said. Did she think Steve _wanted_ Bucky to stick around? How would that even work? They were from countries on the opposite sides of a wall, almost literally. They were supposed to _hate_ each other. Bucky tamped down on the flare of hope inside him, the little _maybe it’ll work out_ that inched its way into his mind.

 

                Forcing himself to focus on the task at hand, Bucky flicked the tracker on at his end, frowning slightly as he didn’t get a response. “Your tracker isn’t sending a signal. Are you sure you turned it on?” He asked after a moment, and Peggy huffed, climbing onto the low table.

 

                Steve narrowed his eyes slightly, still displeased with the plan overall – he’d already made his disapproval absolutely clear – but flushed a dull scarlet when Peggy lifted the hem of her skirt to reveal the lacy garter around her thigh to which the tracker was attached. “Do you want to check it?” Peggy added, dropping her skirt again and raising an eyebrow at Bucky.

 

                Bucky waved a hand at Steve, smirking slightly, and murmured, “Be my guest, she’s _your_ fiancée,” Before Steve could air the protest Bucky could see forming on his lips.

 

                Bucky raised his eyebrows, stood, and pointed at the small balcony off the bedroom, before tucking his hands in his pockets and heading for it, trying not to look at his bed. Leaning against the rail of the balcony, he counted down a couple of minutes, refusing to let himself slide into his own thoughts. He was jarred out of his count at 187 by Steve clearing his throat, standing in the doorway. When he realised he had Bucky’s attention, Steve nodded slightly, said, “I think it’s sorted now,” and headed back into the suite. Bucky sighed, pushing off the rail and straightening his cuffs before heading back in as well, sparing a glance out onto the street.

 

                Sure enough, when he looked at his tech, the little light was a steady green, indicating the tracker was broadcasting. “Are you ready? Uncle Zola’s car has arrived,” he said steadily, looking at Peggy carefully. She seemed a little shaken, a lot nervous, and Bucky walked over, offering her a hand down from the table she still stood on. “You’ll be okay, Steve will be close by the entire time,” he reassured, before patting her shoulder lightly and heading back to his tech to pack it all up.

 

                When he was done, he handed Steve the case, gave them a little smile, and sent them on their way with a soft, “Be careful.”

 

                Then he started to prepare himself for his meeting with Alexander Pierce.

 

 

 

                  
                When the taxi picked him up an hour later, Bucky was tugging at his cuffs impatiently, just wanting the damned meeting to be over. Pierce was slimy, yeah, but he was smart too, and there had been definite suspicion in his actions the night before. Bucky had to step up his game, really sell his cover, otherwise everything was fucked. He settled his sunglasses on his nose as he settled into his seat, and tried not to think too hard about where they were going.

 

                Directing the taxi to Pierce shipping, he spent the drive wondering how Steve and Peggy were faring. They were going out with the rather creepy Zola, and despite the fact that he was Peggy’s uncle, Bucky was worried for them.

 

                His thoughts were interrupted as they pulled up outside the main offices, and Bucky paid the driver with a smile before sliding out, staring up at the imposing building. Girding himself, he headed up the stairs, smiling as a guard approached him as he entered the building. The man directed him to the receptionist’s desk without a word, which was more than just a little odd considering the desk itself was in plain sight, with a sign. A heavy guard presence like that was always a little worrisome.

 

                Bucky put on his most convincing face and leaned forward on the desk slightly. “Hi, Jack Devony to see Mr. Pierce?” He said with a winning smile, and the receptionist looked him over, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks.

 

                “He’s expecting you, I’ll show you up.”

 

                “Oh that’s not necessary, just point me in th-"

 

                “Company policy Mr. Devony, I’m sure you understand,” she said with a cool smile, and Bucky nodded.

 

                “Of course, lead the way.”

 

                Bucky was unsurprised when she led the way to the elevator, but mildly annoyed when they only went up two floors before departing. She led the way to a large wooden door, opening it and gesturing at him to enter. “Mr Pierce will be with you shortly,” The woman said carefully, and Bucky could hear the faint murmur of Pierce speaking to someone. “He would like it if you made yourself comfortable.”

 

                “Thank you,” Bucky said with a small nod, walking through the door with his hands in his pockets. Pierce was on the phone, murmuring about a boat, so he took a moment to look over the office. It was more of an extravagant living room really, a massive space with Roman styled statues – his reason for being there really – and elegant couches. He walked forward a few steps, looking through the massive windows over the dock, when he heard Pierce speak directly to him.

 

                “Help yourself to a drink,” The man drawled, lifting the receiver away from his mouth, and Bucky nodded, smiled, and headed over to the small table filled with decanters. Picking up one half filled with scotch, Bucky swirled it slowly before pouring himself a glass. He sipped it as he walked across the large room towards the windows, trying to place the strange note in the dri- oh. _Fuck_.

 

                Bucky swirled the amber liquid in the glass as he heard Pierce hang up the phone, and turned to look at the man as Pierce reclined in his chair. “So sorry to keep you waiting.” He drawled, before his eyes narrowed slightly. “You don’t look like you slept much Mr. Devony,” He observed, and Bucky raised his eyebrows, lifting his cup slightly in acknowledgement.

 

                “Funny you should say that, Mr. Pierce,” Bucky said after a moment, before lifting his cup slightly. “I don’t think this scotch is helping either.” He wedged the glass in the hand of a knockoff Greek statue and turned to the large windows. “If I were a suspicious man,” he started, walking towards the windows and looking out them. In the dock area, a large crane boat was working in hauling something out of the water, and Bucky had to fight a smile as he realised it was the truck from the night before. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he grit his teeth, refusing to show anything as his vision blurred for a moment. “I would think you put something in my drink.”

 

                “It’s much easier to trust a drink you fixed yourself,” Pierce said with a tight smile.

 

                “But how did you know I was going to drink the scotch?”

 

                “I didn’t,” Pierce said easily, one eyebrow raised as Bucky turned to face him, swaying just a little. “I laced all the drinks. I don’t like to leave much to chance, Mr. Barnes.”

 

                And there it was. What Bucky had expected after last night, and yet had hoped wouldn’t happen. “And I thought I was doing so well,” he said after a moment, walking to one of the couches as his vision started to swim, just a little. Yeah, it was time to settle in. He paused, staring at one of the small framed pictures next to the couch for a moment as Pierce kept talking.

 

                “Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, you were doing _fantastically_ well,” Pierce started as he spun his chair slowly. “The fault doesn’t lie in your performance, however you couldn’t control the loyalty of young Peggy. She gave you up like an unwanted kitten.”

 

                God, Bucky hoped it was just him. He hoped Steve was safe, Steve wasn’t caught, Steve wasn’t _hurt_.

 

                Bucky plumped one of the pillows, setting it by the arm rest of the chair as he replied. “She seemed … so innocent.” He stacked all four pillows from the one couch, patting them down as his limbs started to grow heavy. Oh yeah, this was a nasty one. Wouldn’t be fun to wake up. Provided he actually did wake up.

 

                “You’re not the first man to have fallen for the charms of a pretty young woman,” Pierce drawled, standing slowly. “What _are_ you doing?”

 

                Bucky snorted at the confused question, unbuttoning his suit jacket and flopping onto the couch, settling his head on the pile of pillows and crossing his ankles. Just in time too, as a wave of dizziness caught him, and his vision blanked out for a moment. “I’ve been here before,” he started, and boy, that was an understatement. “And last time I fell rather badly, and hurt my head.” His vision started to swim again, more persistent than before, and Bucky sighed, trying not to resist the drug working through his system.

 

                “I’m afraid that isn’t going to stop you getting hurt,” Pierce drawled as he walked closer, standing over Bucky with a smug little smile. “Sleep well, James.”

 

                As Bucky felt the press of Pierce’s fingertips against his eyelids, he knew he should be worried about himself, but he wasn’t. If he made it out of this, Steve was going to _kill_ him.

 

 

 

                When Bucky blinked open his eyes, Pierce’s face filling his field of vision made him jerk back. Or, try to. He bit back a whimper as the pounding in his head was exacerbated by the tight strap across his forehead, and narrowed his eyes to limit the light hitting them.

 

                “Time to wake up,” Pierce drawled, tapping the needle in his hand against his chin. Bucky tried to lift his hands, only to find they were bound tightly to the chair he was on, and when he tried to take a deep breath he felt a thick band across his chest.

 

                This wasn’t going to be fun.

 

                “You may have heard of the Dark Angel of Ravensberg,” Pierce started as he turned, walking across the room to a small desk. Bucky tugged his hands, wincing as he realised that not only were his fingers in metal braces, his left sleeve was rolled back, revealing the dull gleam of his prosthetic. His metal fingers were in a similar set of braces, though he was surprised that they hadn’t taken the opportunity to pull open his arm and look inside. “The Butcher of Belsen, and my personal favourite,” Pierce dropped the needle on the small table, settling himself into the creaky chair behind it. “The Fifth Horseman, Doctor of the Apocalypse.”

 

                Bucky heard movement behind him, tried to turn, but was caught by the strap across his forehead. Instead, he took a moment to look around at the room he was trapped in. Large, dingy, filled with dirty tools and in severe need of a top to bottom clean. What a great place to die.

 

                “What history has failed to relate is that this is not the work of three individuals, but the tireless work of a single artist. And today you have the privilege of experiencing his work first hand.”

 

                Yeah, that’s as bad as he thought it was going to be.

 

                As Pierce poured himself a cup of tea, movement on Bucky’s left caught his attention, and he strained to get a glimpse of the person. A familiar face came to stand in front of him, one that made him scowl.

 

                “Hello again, Mr. Barnes,” Zola waved slightly, a sick little glint in his eye that made Bucky’s stomach turn. Zola turned to Pierce, who nodded slightly, and when he turned back to Bucky, there was a little smile on his face. Alright. It was beginning.

 

                Zola rocked his foot forward onto the pedal under his foot, and Bucky forced himself to relax as it clicked. The lights flickered, but nothing else happened, and he tried to look down at Zola’s foot as Zola let out a noise of annoyance, pressed the pedal another two times before turning to Pierce.

 

                “My apologies,” he said, and actually sounded apologetic. Pierce let out an annoyed sigh. “There’s a short in the wiring. I thought I’d located it…” Zola hunched forward, walking around the chair Bucky was in to follow the wires hooking up to the chair. Oh. Electrocution. How quaint. He hadn’t been electrocuted in a while.

 

                “I keep telling the maestro to modernise, but alas he’s a hopeless sentimentalist,” Pierce said with a little wave of his teacup, and Bucky heard a click from behind him. There was a hiss, and Bucky’s body jerked as the shock of electricity passed up through his fingers, made worse by the sheer amount of metal-on-skin contact thanks to his arm. A pained grunt escaped him before he could prevent it, and he clenched his teeth to prevent them clattering together as his muscles locked, pain radiating through him.

 

                The entire chair shuddered as electricity poured through him, and his eyes opened wide, the pain blacking out his vision as he struggled to breathe. Dimly, he heard Pierce stand, say something, and then the rush of pain stopped, started to fade as the switch was clicked off by an apologetic looking Zola. Fuck, that hurt.

 

                “Ow,” he managed, a sarcastic note in his voice as he stared at the squat man in front of him, and Pierce snorted.

 

                “My apologies,” Zola said quickly, looking between Bucky and Pierce. “Won’t happen again.”

 

                Pierce walked forward as Bucky forced down the pained noises he so wanted to make, and dropped his head to speak quietly, nearly nose to nose with Bucky. Bucky refused to make eye contact with him, instead focusing on Zola. “So sorry I can’t stay to finish you off myself. Zola’s never in a rush but sadly I am, and I want it to be slow.” Of course he did. Typical criminal boss, overdramatic until the end. “I’ll send your regards to little Peggy.” Of course, Pierce wouldn’t know that compared to someone else, Peggy was the least of Bucky’s worries. God, he hoped Steve was okay.

 

                Pierce turned and walked away, out a door behind Bucky, and Bucky let himself breath, fast and shallow as he waited for the pain to fade. Zola reached above him, palming the bare bulb, before swinging it in a wide circle without a word. As Bucky focusing on his breathing, the lights flickered again, but this time when they went off, they stayed off. Bucky froze, breath catching in his chest, and tugged at the restraints again, on the verge of panic when the single, still swinging bulb above his head clicked on.

 

                Bucky watched it spin as he let out a quiet breath, carefully controlling his breathing again, before looking for Zola. He was seated behind what looked like a music stand that had a thick book resting on it, his arms folded across his chest. This was torture in and of itself, Bucky knew. The endless breaths where nothing happened, the ticking of painless seconds as expectation coiled in your gut until you wanted to scream with it, flinching at every noise, every move, constantly ready for pain. He knew it from experience, but that didn’t make it any better this time around. In fact, it made things worse – he knew what was happening, and that made this psychological warfare even more potent.

 

                “Once upon a time, there was a little boy.” Zola started to speak, nudging his glasses higher on his face before folding his arms again, watching Bucky carefully. Bucky nearly jumped at the voice, but contained it, and he could see that his lack of reaction disappointed Zola.

 

                “You wouldn’t describe him as a particularly special little boy,” Zola continued, leaning forward and opening the book. It was a photo album, the first picture of a young child, perfectly average in every way. “He was neither tall, nor handsome, charismatic or amusing. In fact, he appeared to be exceedingly dull.” Zola turned the page, revealing that same little boy with what must be his parents, smiling for the camera pointed their way. “Because of this boy’s apparent shortcomings, he was bullied mercilessly and relentlessly by the other children. Year merged with miserable year as life continued to be a living hell.” Zola turned the page again, but Bucky stopped focusing on the images, instead staring at the black paper margins as the man droned on. “But what the other boys didn’t understand about their victim was,” _he wouldn’t fucking shut up_ “That he didn’t see them as enemies. He saw them as instruments of learning.” Of course. How overdramatic. “A priceless lesion was gleaned from his tormentors. Man has only two masters in this world, and their names are Pain and Fear.” God, this was sounding like some shitty spy novel. Bucky was almost keen to get back to the electricity, that’s how fucking boring this man was.

 

                “The boy discovered he had quite a talent for eliciting these feelings in others,” Zola continued, turning another page, and Bucky caught a glimpse of the man, younger but still obviously Zola, standing next to what looked like a dog. He quickly pulled his eyes away before he could concentrate on anything. “So on the principle of playing to your strengths, he decided to make their cultivation his life’s work.” He kept flicking through pages, photos of people in dentist’s chairs, tied to tables, in various compromising positions, and Zola was in every single one.

 

                “Luckily for the boy, history gave him an unprecedented opportunity.” Bucky knew where this was going, oh boy did he know. And he really didn’t want to.

“A world war.”

 

                Bucky grit his teeth, keeping his eyes firmly in the margins to avoid looking at whatever this absolute nutjob had done during the war. “The canvas, Mr. Barnes, on which he would produce his greatest work.” It was all laid out before him in careful detail, and Bucky let out a small, horrified sound. Zola’s eyes lifted from the book, and the smile he gave Bucky was lecherous, absolutely _sickening_.

 

                Zola flipped on, and there was an empty page that the man stroked lightly, tracing an invisible circle in the centre. “You will go here, Mr. Barnes. A whole page, just for you.” Bucky clenched his teeth, starting to come to terms with the fact that this time? This time he probably wasn’t getting out. “And not in black and white, like the others, no. Kodachrome.” Zola looked so fucking impressed with himself about that. “The colours are so real you can almost taste them,” his voice dropped, going from just quiet to a near whisper as he said it, and Bucky blinked slowly, swallowed hard.

 

                “Ready?” Zola said, sounding a little louder, and Bucky closed his eyes, not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing anything in Bucky’s eyes. He tightened his jaw, and, when it seemed as though Zola was in fact waiting for some kind of signal, nodded once, short and sharp.

 

There was a click, and the near-familiar buzz of electricity crawled through him again. Bucky’s back arched against the restraints as it continued, longer than before, endless waves of electricity bringing equally relentless waves of pain, until the pain was all Bucky knew. He kept his teeth gritted, his eyes screwed shut, as the shudders of his body became more pronounced, the parts of him not strapped down rattling against the wood of the chair, adding another, weaker layer of pain, and shit, this was really it.

 

                Then it disappeared, the absence of stimulus almost as painful as its onset. Bucky couldn’t contain the noise of pain he let out then, sagging against his restraints before reluctantly looking at Zola. The other man was leaning back in his seat, just watching, something calculating in his gaze. Bucky knew that he wasn’t looking at Peggy’s uncle, or the overdramatic approval-seeking man of before. No, he was staring at the man responsible for the torture and murder of hundreds, thousands even, and this man was _proud_ of what he’d done.

 

                Bucky felt a trickle of something on his face, and given the fact that it seemed to be coming from his nose, he was pretty sure it was blood. Great. Just great. Staring ahead, he tuned out for a moment, watching a guard walk past the big double doors as Zola kept talking.

 

                “There are two types of torture, Mr. Barnes.” He started, and Bucky watched the guard stumble, turn, looking vaguely alarmed and a lot hazy, before crumpling to the ground. No, there was no way that was happening. No way someone was here for him.

 

                “One is for the extraction of information, the other,” Zola continued, and Bucky felt his heart skip a beat as a familiar shape appeared in the window. God, he had to be hallucinating. There was no way in hell Steve was there. Steve paused, turning his head to stare into the room, meeting Bucky’s eyes, and _God_ did he look angry. “Is for it’s own sake,” Zola finished, and Bucky closed his eyes, tensing as he heard the click of the damned foot pedal. But, nothing happened, and Bucky relaxed minutely, cracking one eye to see the frustrated look on Zola’s face.

 

                Steve raised a finger to his lips, signalling for silence, as Zola spoke with a sigh. “I must admit, this does get frustrating. Ah! But fortunately! I’m in an old fashioned mood.” Bucky wasn’t even looking at Zola now, eyes focused behind the seated man as the shadows shifted, and Steve silently stepped into the light. “I think we’ll start … with the pliers,” Zola continued thoughtfully, and Steve folded his arms, standing just behind Zola.

 

                “I never thought I’d say this,” Bucky started, seeing Zola’s eyes narrow in confusion. Bucky closed his eyes, head rocking to the side as he finished. “But I’m actually quite pleased to see you.” That was a blatant lie and they both knew it, but it got an entertaining response out of Zola.

 

                He frowned in utter confusion at Bucky, before stiffening, slowly turning to look behind him, eyes widening comically as he saw Steve behind him. Steve met Zola’s gaze, didn’t waver as he spoke to Bucky.

 

                “You doing alright, Soldier?”

 

                “Absolutely fine, having the time of my life,” Bucky drawled, and the corner of Steve’s mouth twitched.

 

                Zola lunged out of his chair, away from Steve, but the Russian was faster, a big hand latching onto the back of Zola’s neck and shoving him back into the chair. “You, stay right there,” he said quietly, anger obvious in his voice. Keeping his hand where it was, Steve glanced around, pulling a thick length of rope from out of Bucky’s sight and quickly tying Zola to the chair he was in.

 

                Then he crossed to Bucky, finally meeting his gaze, and Bucky’s breath left him. God, Steve was angry, yeah, but there was fear there, true fear. He stepped up, knees brushing Bucky’s, and leaned forward, forehead touching Bucky’s, solid and warm. Bucky’s next breath was a choked gasp, because he _refused_ to show any kind of weakness in front of the human crap pile that was Zola, but _fuck_ he hadn’t thought he’d make it out of this one.

 

                Steve seemed to understand and didn’t say a word, starting at the top and unbuckling the restraining strap across his forehead, then his chest, working down his arms. He was gentle, so gentle as he freed Bucky’s arms, drawing his fingers out of the electrical harnesses and rubbing his thumbs over the backs of Bucky’s hands, even the left one. Then he knelt, quickly freeing Bucky’s legs, before holding out his hands for Bucky to choose to take.

 

                He did.

 

                Placing his hands in Steve’s, Bucky let the Russian haul him upright and straight into a desperate hug, arms wrapping tight around Bucky and just _holding_ him. Bucky sagged against him, letting Steve hold him up for once, and hugged Steve back just as hard, pressing his forehead to Steve’s shoulder as Steve murmured “I’ve got you Buck. I’ve got you.”

 

                As soon as he had his trembling under control – plenty of time for a breakdown _later_ – Bucky lifted his head, planted his hands on Steve’s chest, and gave him a gentle push. Steve got the message, Stepping back and letting his arms drop, and Bucky gave him a weak smile before turning to Zola, gaze hardening.

 

                “Put him in the chair. I’ve got questions for him.”

 

                Steve nodded, turned to Zola, and the man outright whimpered as Steve started towards him. Bucky stepped back, not wanting to even touch the man, and found his shoes and socks, tugging them on as Steve manhandled Zola into the chair. Once his feet were properly covered, Bucky tugged his sleeve back down, covering his left arm again and carefully buttoning the cuff as Steve fastened the last restraint.

 

                “I thought I found all of your trackers,” Bucky said after a moment, looking up from his hand to watch Steve work.

 

                “You did,” Steve started, and Bucky raised an eyebrow, waiting. “Just not the ones in your shoes.” Of _course_ , he hadn’t even thought to _look_ in the shoes, let alone actually scan them properly. He wiggled his toes slightly, looked down at his feet.

 

                “In the heel I’m guessing? When did you have the time?” Bucky asked as he looked back up at Steve.

 

                Steve just raised his eyebrows and said “I wonder,” and Bucky snorted.

 

                “Point taken.”

 

                Steve finished the last buckle and looked down at the pedal, before jamming his foot in it. Bucky winced slightly, a shiver running through his body, but nothing happened. To him at least.

 

                Zola let out a rather high pitched squeal, eyes bulging as the shock ran through him. Steve looked up in shock, foot immediately coming off the pedal, and Bucky looked at him.

 

                “Some warning next time, please,” he said after a moment of silence, and Steve looked at him, nodding slowly, still looking like he’d just seen some sort of second coming.

 

                “You don’t have to do things to make me talk,” Zola stammered immediately, and both Bucky and Steve turned to him. “I’ll tell you everything I know, you won’t be able to stop me,” Zola gave what was probably supposed to be a charming smile, he just looked like someone had ripped up his brand new shag rug. Then electrocuted him.

 

                “What about Peggy?” Steve asked, voice even.

 

                “She betrayed you, I will testify-” was as far as Zola got before Steve was jamming his foot down on the pedal, making Zola jump and shriek, and Bucky twitched violently.

 

                Bucky hissed out a breath, and Steve looked at him, mumbling “Sorry.”

 

                “Don’t kick yourself,” Bucky murmured, tucking his hands in his pockets and finally hiding the prosthetic from view. “She had me fooled too.”

 

                “It’s not the same,” Steve said firmly, jabbing his foot down again. Bucky jumped slightly, and so did Zola, but nothing else happened, and Zola let out a shaky, relieved breath.

 

                “They have a glitch,” Bucky said after a moment of Steve pressing the pedal repeatedly, and Steve frowned.

 

                “Then I’ll fix it.” Steve turned, crouching and filtering through the cables beside the chair.

 

                “Wait, please wait,” Zola gasped, and Bucky raised his eyebrows as Steve ignored him.

 

                “Do you still have Teller?” Bucky asked, and Zola nodded slightly, eyes fixing on Bucky as he answered in the affirmative.

 

                “Has he succeeded in enriching the uranium?” Steve asked, following a wire up to the hand restraint, then back down.

 

                “Oh, we’re way beyond that,” Zola said with a smug little smile, looking down at Steve. “There’s already a bomb, a nuclear warhead.” Steve looked up slowly, eyes widening. “The Reichsmarschall will take delivery tomorrow morning at eight AM. They’re sending a submarine.” Zola’s eyes turned back to Bucky. Bucky rubbed at his face with his right hand, trying to clean the blood off his face and not really succeeding. “Between that time and now, it’s being held on Pierce’s island, the family’s private retreat.” Then he seemed to get sidetracked, as if everything he’d said was all to prove his loyalty. “I’ll appear in court, I’ll inform on anyone! I don’t even need to know them!” He seemed amused with the last comment, eyebrows lifting as he silently looked between Bucky and Steve as if inviting them to share in the joke. “I’m yours to command.”

 

                “Will you give us a minute?” Bucky said after a moment of silence, leaning forward slightly and looking at Steve. The Russian stood, nodded slightly at Bucky and headed for the door, and Bucky followed, patting the back of the chair lightly. “Don’t’ go anywhere,” he said easily.

 

                “I’ll be right here,” Zola said sarcastically, but Bucky could hear the concerned note in his voice.

 

                Following Steve out the doors behind Zola’s chair, he was immediately pulled into another tight hug, Steve having evidently reached the end of his tether. Bucky hugged him back tightly, rubbing his hand up and down Steve’s back firmly, murmuring “I know, I’m here, I’m here,” on repeat. Steve pulled back after a minute, cupped Bucky’s jaw, and pressed a firm kiss to Bucky’s forehead before stepping back, nodding slightly.

 

                “Okay, you were saying?” He said quietly, and Bucky stepped forward to meet him again, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

 

                “Thank you. For finding me, for caring.” He murmured, and he pressed a finger to Steve’s lips before he could respond. “What do you think we should do?” He said after a moment, head tipping back slightly to indicate he was talking about Zola.

 

                “We have to get to that island,” Steve said immediately, frowning slightly as he focused back on the mission.

 

                “I meant, what should we do about him?”

 

                “It’s your call,” Steve said with a sigh, looking at Bucky carefully. “You’re the one he’s been … having fun with.”

 

                “On the one hand,” Bucky said thoughtfully, facing the blank opposite wall as he thought. “We need him. He’s a world of information. But on the other hand, I know exactly what will happen. He’ll strike a deal and struggle out of it. He’s prepared to sell his ass on this, and for that, they’ll give him his freedom. He’ll be out within months.” Bucky paused, rolled his eyes. “Or worse, they’ll offer him a _job_. A man with that skill set is never wanting for employment. Better to keep him where someone can keep an eye on him as well, you don’t want to know what he got up to unsupervised.” Bucky shuddered at the memory.

 

                “So what do you think we should do?” Steve asked after a moment, obviously choosing to take Bucky’s word for it.

 

                “Just, give me a minute,” Bucky sighed, and he was silent for a moment before a slow orange flicker caught his attention. Coming from behind them. His gaze moved to Steve, and Steve looked back at him, before they turned simultaneously to look through the windows and back into the torture room.

 

                It was on fire.

 

                Well.

 

                They were silent for a moment, before Steve spoke up. “Huh. He fixed the glitch,” he said mildly, seeming completely uncaring of the events that were unfolding in front of him.

 

                “Damn,” Bucky responded, not taking his eyes off the still jerking chair as flames spread across the room. “I left my jacket in there.”

 

                That solved one problem at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick recap:   
> \- peggy gives the boys up to rumlow, and so bucky gets drugged and captured by pierce.  
> \- 'uncle zola' is revealed to be not only in on the plan, but pierce's information gatherer.  
> \- life-affirming stucky moments, steve rescues bucky  
> \- zola reveals pierce has a functioning nuclear weapon, and that it is being kept on pierce's private island until 8am the next day, at which time it is being handed over to a german submarine and will therefore be out of reach.  
> \- zola dies.
> 
> that's as graphic as it's gonna get folks, don't worry about another chapter being like this


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo lil chapter that's peggy's pov, to do a bit of plot-building. also peggy-building, because peggy is rad af

                The view from the helicopter was exquisite, really. It was a beautiful day, barely a cloud in the sky, and the ocean below them was a deep, shimmering blue. The mountains of Italy were visible on both sides, and in front of them, lush and green. It was a pity that Peggy couldn’t concentrate on the view. Not considering where they were headed, and what she had to do to get there. And especially not with Brock Rumlow seated next to her, watching her every move. Thankfully, after the first attempt, he didn’t try to talk to her.

 

                She hoped Steve had managed to get away. He was fast, athletic, and had definitely been close enough to hear what she had said at the lunch party. There had been plenty of time for him to get away. And James – Bucky, he went by now apparently – had hopefully been able to talk his way out of any trouble. He was good at that, had even gotten his job that way.

 

                Steve had been completely transparent that first night, telling her about himself, about Bucky, what they were doing and where they had come from, probably in an attempt to earn her trust. And she did trust them, both of them. But someone else had her loyalty. And someone else had been calling the shots.

 

                Luckily the pilot wasn’t very talkative, the only voice filtering through Peggy’s headset was him talking to his flight tower as they approached their destination.

 

                Pierce Island was absolutely _extravagant_ really, a large crescent shaped island that had only a simple bridge connecting it to the mainland. It was flush with greenery, and there were several buildings scattered over its surface, including an absolutely _gorgeous_ mansion at the top of a small hill. Unfortunately, and expectedly, that was not where they were headed. Instead, the pilot brought the helicopter down to land on an ugly stone slab of a building, that had looked at least five floors tall and took up a massive amount of the island.

 

                Peggy waited for a confirmation from the pilot before pulling the headset off, and she stepped down and out of the helicopter when someone opened the door for her. The wind being thrown up by the still-spinning rotors blew her hair and dress all over the place, and it took her a moment to brush the strands of her hair out of her face.

 

                When she did, she was greeted with a sight that made her heart clench. Her father, dressed to the nines in a light grey suit, looking so much older than his years He still had the untamable mop of hair she had inherited, and his facial hair was for once neatly groomed. He looked healthy, if stressed, and almost afraid of her reaction.

 

                Peggy pulled off her sunglasses as Rumlow appeared beside her, looking between them for a moment before saying “I’ll let you two get reacquainted,” loud enough to be heard over the still spinning rotors. Peggy barely acknowledged him, still staring at her father, and he waited to approach until Rumlow had departed.

 

                Then he walked forward, hesitant, stopping just in front of her but not quite touching. Every part of him looked like he wanted to.

 

                “Peggy,” he breathed, hand lifting like he was going to brush her cheek before he hesitated. Peggy immediately took his hand, pressing his calloused fingers to her cheek. Now was not the time to confront him about everything she wanted to, not while they were in the middle of an unfriendly island, and there were people watching their every move.

 

                “Papa,” she said with a little smile, and was immediately wrapped up in a hug, Erskine warm and solid in front of her.

 

                “I missed you, Peggs,” he said quietly, and she gave a small laugh, disbelieving. “It’s true. I did what I had to, to protect you and your ma. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

 

                Peggy sighed, hugging her father back carefully, before pulling back slightly. “I believe you. Is there someplace we can talk?”

 

                Erskine nodded, stepping back and gesturing towards the building behind him. “Absolutely. This way.” He turned, heading for the door, and she fell into step beside him without a word. He seems to appreciate her want for silence at that moment and said no more, beyond a soft “through here,” or “this way.”

 

                Not until they were both seated in an extravagantly outdoor dining area on the other side of the building, both at one end of a long table, at least. Someone came past, offering them both chilled water, and they both accepted with a smile. No point in bugging the waiting staff, she supposed. Peggy sipped at her drink as she waited for Erskine to talk, and he didn’t disappoint. As soon as the server was gone, he was sighing, clasping his hinds in front of himself.

 

                “ _I have often dreamed of this day_.” He started, Italian rolling off his tongue like it was his native language, and Peggy pushed to her feet, walking the length of the table and back again slowly to stop herself from snapping. She spotted Rumlow standing not far away, just out of hearing range, and when he lifted a hand to her, she refused to acknowledge him, instead turning back to her father. “Peggy,” he said softly, standing and moving over to her, absolute sincerity on his face. “ _I have made a terrible mistake._ ”

 

                That was an understatement and a half, no matter which part of his life he was talking about. She snapped, hand whipping up as she slapped him hard and fast across the face, and his head flew to the side, but he did nothing to defend himself. Just behind Erskine, Peggy saw Rumlow nod to himself, before turning and walking away. Good, now they were alone.

 

                Stepping in close, Peggy planted her hands on her father’s shoulders, waiting for him to look at her before saying, “You did what you had to do, back then. A part of me hates you for that, sure, but I can understand why you did it. I had a good life, grew up with Ma until she was killed, casualty of the war not long after you left, and I was adopted by a nice family who treated me right. It still,” she swallowed hard, looking down before back up at him. “Still would have been better with you there, but it was alright.”

 

                Erskine looked away, guilt written in the lines of his face, but Peggy shook her head slightly, leaned in and kissed his cheek. “We need to get through this first, then we can talk, alright?” She said after a moment, and Erskine nodded slowly. “I can’t tell you much, but I’m here to help you, and you need to know that. How close are you to fully completing the device?”

 

                Erskine looked a little taken aback by the subject change, but caught on quickly. “Very. Less than a day’s work at a normal pace. I’ve been dragging it out as much as possible, creating problems as much as I solve them, but I can’t do too much before they begin to suspect me.”

 

                Peggy sighed softly, nodded. She had suspected as much, but it wasn’t a good thing to be right about. She nodded back in the direction they’d come from, said, “We should go meet Pierce and his lot.” Erskine nodded, led the way back, this time taking her around the side of the building rather than through it. As they approached other people, Peggy switched to German, looking at her father. “ _You must appear to cooperate,_ ” She said firmly. “ _That’s the best chance we have at disabling the bomb permanently._ ”

 

                “ _Guards watch every step of the process, there are cameras everywhere_ ,” Erskine argued quietly, but Peggy stopped him before he could continue.

 

                “ _I’ll help you._ ” Just as she spoke, Pierce and Rumlow appeared, coming up the stairway just in front of them. “ _Hug me, father,_ ” She implored quietly, and he didn’t hesitate, turning and wrapping his arms around her gently as Pierce approached them, Rumlow half a step behind.

 

                Peggy stepped back, turning to look at Pierce, completely ignoring the other man. “My father has been unwell,” she said firmly, walking towards the men. “That and the stress led to self doubt. He is ready now to resume his work.”

 

                “A daughter’s touch,” Rumlow said appreciatively, but Peggy continued to ignore him.

 

                “Peggy has agreed to assist me,” Erskine said with a slight nod, stepping forward and drawing their attention. “To ensure I finish on time.”

 

                Pierce looked at Erskine for a moment, before smiling, looking vaguely like he was ten steps ahead of everyone else. “Not _that’s_ a good idea,” he said easily, before looking past them. “Take them to the lab.”

 

                A pair of guards appeared behind them, having walked quietly enough to remain undetected. “This way,” one of them said, and Erskine rolled his eyes.

 

                “I know the way to my own damned lab,” he said sharply, and the guard backed off slightly, nodding for Erskine to lead the way.

 

                Peggy stayed half a step behind her father, as he led the way down through the winding corridors to his lab. There was a handful of other scientists in the room when they arrived, flitting between two near identical looking bombs and the surrounding tables, bickering amongst themselves in constantly changing languages. When the door opened, they all turned to look, most of them relaxing as soon as they saw Erskine. Some however were more hesitant, eyes fixing on Peggy as she entered the room after her father, the guards closing the door behind her.

 

                “This is my daughter, Peggy,” Erskine said after a moment, breaking the silence. “She’s here to help me, please treat her with respect.” One by one, the scientists nodded, and Erskine turned to her, beckoning her closer with a “here, let me show you what I have left to do.”

 

                Peggy integrated herself into the team effortlessly, she only needing minor instruction to do what any of the scientists asked her to. For the most part though, she kept out of the way, not trusting her own hands enough around two nearly live bombs.

 

                After a few hours though, Peggy saw her chance, as Erskine held his hand out with a firm, “Reflector lens.”

 

                The scientist next to Peggy handed over the lens, and Erskine gave her a steady look, so she turned to the scientist with a raised eyebrow. “So what does that do?” she asked with a note of curiosity, and the man jumped to explain.

 

                “Well, it’s known as a coupler,” he said in a heavy accent, eyes flicking between Peggy and Erskine as if wanting to check that he hadn’t gotten anything wrong. “It sends a signal which enables another missile to lock onto this one for double the impact.” The man reached across, flicked a switch on the bomb, and a little green light came on. He gestured behind him at the other missile, and a green light was gleaming from the other side of the room. “It was left over from when this was a warhead that contained conventional explosives. Now that we are converting it to nuclear, it is redundant.”

 

                Peggy leaned forward slightly as if to look closer, and tapped a tray with the side of her hand as she did, sending it, and the tools in it, clattering to the floor.

 

                She stumbled back a step as though she had tripped, and all eyes turned to her as she murmured, “I’m sorry,” and dropped to a crouch to gather the tools. The scientist next to her crouched as well, helping her clean them up with a little smile. When she stood, walking around the table to place the tray of tools back in their spot, Erskine nodded slightly at her, as if thanking her for doing so. In reality, Peggy knew he was indicating that he had done whatever he’d planned to do to sabotage the warhead.

 

                Just as he did, Pierce came striding in, flanked by two guards. “We’re nearly done, Alexander,” Erskine said with a smile as he turned to face the man, and Pierce smiled.

 

                “Those are the words we’ve been waiting to hear!” he said, pleased, as he approached. The two guards behind him walked around as though they were going to check the weapon over, then suddenly latched onto Peggy’s arms. She jumped in surprise, tugging back, but they kept hold of her easily, and she scowled.

 

                “What are you doing?” Erskine said quickly, concern on his face as he looked between Pierce and her.

 

                “Let’s both stop playing games, shall we?” Pierce said evenly, smile still in place. He turned to the guards holding Peggy, snapped “Put her in a cell. If you don’t hear from me in twenty minutes, kill her.” He turned back to Erskine, and Peggy realised they’d been quite easily caught.

 

                She dug her heels in, but they dragged her away, and as they did she overheard Pierce speaking to her father, over the pounding in her ears.

 

                “That’s how long you have to finish this. You can start by putting back the correct lens, professor.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo sorry for the delay in updating, i've just started fulltime work and got thrown right into a catastrophic system failure, so we've been run off our feel all week, and i haven't had much energy for writing when i get home ;u;

As he climbed out of the small van, Bucky went to tug his jacket closed and frowned when he was met with only air. Flexing his fingers, Bucky shoved his left hand in his pants pocket, feeling almost naked without either his gloves or his jacket. In front of them on the tarmac of the local airport was a large British Royal Navy helicopter, with a small crew gathered in front. An impeccably dressed man was speaking with a couple of crew members, but as Steve announced their presence with the slam of his door, he turned, heading towards them with a wave of his hand.

 

                Oh. He was familiar. “Mr. Barnes, we meet again,” the man half-shouted over the whir of the propellers starting up, and Bucky frowned slightly, face to face with the man he absolutely hadn’t filched a ticket to the Pierce gala earlier in the week from. Nope, absolutely hadn’t. The man didn’t look angry, which was a bonus, in fact he looked mildly amused as Bucky realised the small problem he had gotten himself into. He held out a hand, and Bucky shook it, before stepping back slightly as the man, Fury? turned to Steve.

 

                “Mr. Rogers, a pleasure, My name’s Fury, I believe your instructions are to follow me,” He said as he shook Steve’s hand, and Steve eyed him warily. “So,” The man said, nodding towards the helicopter, and he finished with a faint smile. “Follow me.”

 

                It took no time at all for them to be in the air, and Bucky perched on one of the uncomfortable military-styled seats in the back, opposite Steve. He gave the Russian a slight smile, before Fury, indicated the comms units next to both of them. “Your commanding officers would like to take a moment of your time,” he said easily, but there was no mistaking the comment for anything but an order. Bucky hooked the headset in place, watching as Steve did the same, then switched the unit on. It was already pretty much set up, so he fiddled with a couple of dials, and waited for Sanders’ voice to finally come through.

 

                “You will report to Commander Fury,” he started without a greeting, and Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve gave him an amused look, and Bucky shot him a grin, before focusing back on the voice in his ear. “Of British Naval Intelligence for the remainder of the mission.” Bucky’s eyes flicked to Fury, seated in one of the actual seats up the front. “Your primary mission is to neutralise the nuclear warhead with any means necessary, save actually detonating it. Once this has been dealt with, it is vital that you retrieve Dr. Erskine, _and_ computer disk. They are the key to the US of A winning the arms race.” Bucky frowned slightly, not really giving a shit about it in the long run, but anything to keep him in his handler’s good books was a must. He glanced over at Steve again, who was frowning at his hands, obviously receiving a similar briefing. That would make things fun. “Kill the Russian, if necessary.” Bucky’s heart clenched, and he had to grit his teeth from saying something that would give away his less than ideal stance on that particular topic. His eyes locked with Steve’s, and the look in them told him all he needed to know. Steve had been told the same thing about him.

 

                Bucky disconnected the call, and after a moment more, Steve did too. Taking his cue, Fury returned to the back, seating himself next to Bucky and tapping the microphone piece on his headset lightly. “Gentlemen, can you hear me?” He tested, and at both Steve and Bucky’s nods he continued. “If the Nazi’s are due to take possession of the bomb at oh-eight-hundred, then that gives us,” Fury checked his watch, and Steve scowled, fingers rubbing over the bare curve of his wrist. “A luxurious fourteen hours in which to seize the island, secure the warhead, and winkle out poor Doctor Erskine. There is also the, uh, small matter of retrieving my agent.” Bucky frowned, turning to look at Fury.

 

                “You have a British agent in this?” Steve asked carefully, leaning forward slightly as he spoke as if that would make him easier to hear over the in-flight noise, despite the microphone being less than an inch from his mouth.

 

                “Well she’s not exactly British,” Fury said, and Bucky realised exactly who Fury was talking about. Why the hell hadn’t he seen that coming?

 

                “She?” Steve said sharply, eyebrows going up.

 

                “Here we go,” Bucky muttered, and both Fury and Steve looked at him. “I’m starting to smell the irony. Peggy’s working for you, isn’t she?”

 

                Steve looked absolutely floored at the suggestion, but Fury just nodded, said “Well done, Barnes, yeah, you got there in the end.” He smiled, mildly condescending, and Bucky’s gaze hardened, eyes focusing on the man.

 

                “You’re wrong.” Steve said firmly, looking between Bucky and Fury, eyes narrowing slightly.

 

                “The thing is, Rogers,” Fury said with a raised eyebrow. “When Doctor Erskine disappeared, we assumed that his Nazi colleagues would come knocking at his daughter’s door, so we recruited her. To protect her, to catch them and to locate him.  We waited and what we got, of course, was you two.” Fury’s eyes narrowed slightly as he looked from Steve to Bucky. “I’ve been meaning to thank you _very_ much for nearly fouling up two years of my work.” His voice turned scathing at that, and it was hard for Bucky not to flinch.

 

                “Oops.”

 

                “Oops is right, Mr. Barnes.”

 

                “You’re wrong,” Steve said again, voice hard. “I saw her betray us at Pierce manor.”

 

                “Yes,” Fury said easily, head tipping slightly to the side as he spoke. “I told her to.”

 

                Steve stiffened, eyes flicking to Bucky, and Bucky shook his head slightly. Sure, that move had led to all manner of not so pleasant things happening to him, but Steve bringing that up would make Fury look closer at _them_ , and Bucky didn’t want that. Not when he didn’t know what _them_ was himself.

 

                “You were about to be exposed Rogers,” Fury continued on, as it he hadn’t seen the exchange. “It was the only way she could stay in the game. She knew the ring you gave her was bugged, and that you’d be listening to every word she said. That would give even the _average_ Russian agent time to escape. Of course, you’re not average, are you Rogers? You’re special.”

 

                “Let me translate this into English,” Bucky drawled after a moment to distract Steve from the path he was heading down that would lead to Fury bleeding and Steve probably being arrested. “You told Peggy to drop us in it so you could find her father first,” Bucky pointed at Fury with his left hand, mildly surprised when Fury only glanced at it before ignoring it’s difference completely. “But now you’ve lost her, so you need us to find her and finish the job.”

 

                “That’s a very poor translation, Barnes,” Fury said easily. “But in a nutshell yes, please, thank you very much. I think it’s rather nice, I mean, we’re all obviously very fond of Peggy, and now we have a chance to save her so-”

 

                A buzzer went off, cutting Fury’s words short, and Bucky glanced up as the seatbelt indicator light blinked on. “Terrific,” Fury deadpanned. “We’re a little early.”

 

                Steve turned, peering out the window behind him, and Bucky heard a sharp inhale. “What the hell is that?” He asked, and Bucky tilted himself to look out another window on Steve’s side.

 

                “It’s an aircraft carrier, Rogers,” Fury deadpanned as Steve turned back to look at him. Steve’s gaze flicked between Fury and the window as they got closer to the massive ship. “For a special agent you’re not having a very special day, are you?” Fury said with a raised eyebrow, and Steve growled under his breath.

 

                It didn’t take them long to arrive at the ship, dropping down to land on the flight deck of the aircraft carrier. They were ushered inside by soldiers in tactical gear as the ship crew swarmed around the helicopter, strapping it down.

 

                When they were all gathered in front of a large table, scattered with books and papers, in the in the main directional cabin, Fury spoke with an ease of command that Bucky almost envied. “So, Pierce Island. The plot is, and correct me if I get this wrong, Hill,” He turned to the outfitted woman on his right, who nodded slightly, stepping forward enough to see the plans on the table. “A stealth attack on the island from the sea. We shall go in through the front door here, at the harbour,” Fury pointed at a spot on the map in front of him, and Bucky’s eyes slid to Steve. Steve met his gaze, holding it for just a moment before looking back at the map. “Hill and her men will get you there and keep the enemy engaged, the rest is up to you.” He looked up at Steve, then Bucky, and nodded sharply, before one of the soldiers led them to be outfitted.

 

                Bucky was given gloves, which was a relief, and they were both fitted in black stealth gear before taken to be armed. Bucky was unsurprised when Steve gravitated to the hand pistols, and Bucky made sure to hide a few knives on his person before they were both handed rifles and given a quick rundown on how to use them, as if they didn't already know.

 

                Then, they waited. Lurking at the back of tactical meeting after tactical meeting to while away the hours, neither said much to each other, but they stayed close. Steve’s knee would brush his side every so often from where the man was sitting, or Bucky would lean back and his fingers would rest on Steve’s for a moment. It was as much as they could do given their surroundings, and it wasn’t nearly enough, but at the same time, it _was_.

 

                Night fell, and they were hurried out to stealth boats, launched surrounded by men they didn’t know, each hoping they’d make it through the night. Bucky had been here before, something he hadn’t thought he’d have to deal with ever again, but this was both harder and easier. He had people he cared about this time, people who he could lose at any moment. But, they were people he could trust, completely and utterly.

 

                The boats sped along the water, slowing as they approached the island under cover of darkness. They approached from the side of the harbour, a pair of snipers settled at each end of the pier having arrived on site before their boat had even left. They watched the guards walking the docks fall, one by one, taken out by the British snipers, and their boats made landfall in the middle of the brightly lit pier. Ignoring the soldiers around them, Bucky jumped up, Steve on his heels, and ran for cover.

 

                Two soldiers set up an explosive rig on the large cargo doors, and detonated it quickly. Alarms started blaring, and guards’ yells were heard over the din. They entered the building, making their way through the winding corridors looking for any indication of a lab. Steve spotted it first, waving Bucky over, and they headed down into the lower levels of the building, taking out guards along the way. It would have been almost scary, how well he and Steve worked together, taking wordless cues from each other, watching each other’s backs.

 

                Down the stairs again, and into the open lab, they were greeted with a sight neither of them had wanted to see. Dr. Erskine, sprawled on his back in the middle of the room, a bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. “Looks like we found Doctor Erskine.” Bucky drawled.

 

                Steve crouched by the body, pressing his fingers to Erskine’s neck lightly. “Still warm,” he murmured, looking up at Bucky as Bucky poked around the room. “We’re not far behind them.”

 

                “But we are behind them, and they have the bomb. Looks like there are two cradles here, so either they’ve got two nuclear, or one’s a decoy. They’re both gone.” Bucky said as he scanned the room, noting the open safe and scattered papers. He crouched beside it, sifting through, but there was no computer disk. By the looks of it, Pierce had taken it with him. He pulled out his gamma detector, going back to the cradles and running it over the both of them. “Only one nuclear, looks like.”

 

                Steve nodded, standing and heading off out the door on the other side of the lab. There was a grunt as he was confronted by guards, but when Bucky grabbed his gun and followed, there were a couple of guards on the ground, and a swiftly disappearing Steve at the other end of the hall. Bucky paused, looking down at one of the guards at his feet, something familiar catching his eye.

 

                A watch. Steve’s watch. Well, Steve’s father’s watch. Crouching, he tugged the hat off the guard, recognising him from that first night in Rome, and shook his head slightly when the man looked up at him, dazed from Steve’s attack but not unconscious. “This belongs to a friend of mine,” he said easily, before hitting the guy in the head with the butt of his gun.

 

                Leaning down, he tugged the watch off the guy’s wrist before jogging after Steve. The corridor split, and Bucky sighed, because _of course it wasn’t that easy_. He picked left, keeping his rifle up, and walked quickly along the hall. He didn’t find Steve, but he did find something just as useful.

 

                A control room.

 

                Taking a deep breath, Bucky burst in, gun raised, only to realise it was even better than he’d thought.

 

                A _deserted_ control room.

 

                Dropping his gun on the main desk, Bucky kicked the chair out of the way, and leaned against the desk, scanning the screens in front of him for any sign of Peggy, Pierce, Rumlow, or the bombs. One screen showed what he was looking for – Peggy, being dragged by Rumlow through the small parking area they had passed on their way down, with two scientists strapping a bomb to the back of a jeep.  Bucky pulled his comm unit out of his pocket.

 

                “Steve, come in,” Bucky said sharply, lifting the unit to his mouth.

 

                “ _I’m here,_ ” Steve’s voice came through, crackly but strong.

 

                “Rumlow has Peggy and the bomb, at the main entrance,” he informed the Russian, before turning on his heel and running for the door. There was a slim chance he’d make it in time, but it was enough of a chance for him to actually try, sprinting back along the cleared corridors, stumbling over downed guards and pushing off walls as he rounded corners.

 

                It wasn’t enough.

 

                Just as he rounded the final corner, he heard an engine start. Muttering, “No, no, no,” under his breath, he ran faster, skidding to a halt at the door leading outside just as the jeep drove away. He swore, loud and sharp, then ran down the steps, coming to a stop at in the middle of the driveway.

 

                There had to be something he could use, so he glanced around, noting a motorbike, a couple of town cars, and a couple of covered units that he really hoped were some form of ATV. If he was lucky.

 

                Jogging over to them, he lifted the cover of one, biting his lip in thought before turning to the bigger covered vehicle. Yanking the dust cover off, he grinned when he saw what was under it. A bigger ATV, with a windshield, and it looked much sturdier. Perfect.

 

                Bucky climbed in, glancing around for any sign of a key before reaching under the steering wheel. The steering column cover popped off easily, and the hardest part of hotwiring the ATV was grabbing the right wires. He grabbed the goggles sitting in the passenger seat and shoved his foot onto the gas pedal, throwing the ATV out of the covered area just as Steve came clattering down the stairs.

 

                The last thing he saw in his rearview mirror was Steve lunging for the motorbike and clambering on, before he focused on catching Rumlow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting to get reallll now :v


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> death of a semi-major character happens in this chapter, but it's not a character this story sets you up to like so there's that.

                The ATV rattled like it was trying to throw him out, and Bucky gritted his teeth, focusing on keeping it on the dirt road. Edging around the cliff, he pulled to a stop as the area in front of him opened up into a plateau. Following the road with his eyes, he spotted the jeep that held Rumlow, Peggy, and the bomb a ways ahead, with scrubland between them as the road followed the edge of the mountain. Now this, this is what he’d been expecting when he’d grabbed the ATV over the bike.

 

                Throwing the ATV into gear, Bucky held his breath as he drove straight off the road, aiming to cut across the scrubland and catch up to the jeep. He braced himself as he spotted the drop, and the ATV all but flew for a moment, before thudding down heavily, rattling Bucky even more. He didn’t let up on the gas, and the wheels caught immediately, launching the ATV forward across the brush. It was worse than the road had been, as the wheels crushed down plants, rocks jerking the vehicle and potholes making him jerk forward in his seat. It was faster, though, and he was definitely gaining, so Bucky gritted his teeth and pushed the gas pedal down farther, as far as it would go.

 

                At the other side of the scrubland area, there was a bit of a rise, like there had been at the other side, and Bucky jerked forward in his seat as he hit it. The ATV took it neatly, though, and he was back on the road within seconds, close enough to actually make out the faces of the people in the jeep.

 

                Peggy? Peggy looked terrified.

 

                As they rounded a corner, Bucky spotted a clear path through the trees that lead up, possibly to the road again as it wound up the side of the hill. It looked like it had been cleared by water runoff or something, but it was dry and hard packed now. He headed for that, throwing the ATV into a lower gear, and jerked forward in his seat as he hit the rise. It was slow going, a small stream nearly tipping the ATV over before Bucky wrested back control, and the hill itself was steep. He could hear the engine straining, and prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that just this once, it would work out, that he’d make it up this bank and it would actually _help._

 

                The area in front of him smoothed out just as he dodged a tree, and Bucky hoped that meant the road was just ahead. He could barely hear anything over the roar of the ATV, but he glimpsed the top of the jeep go flying past just as he came clear of the trees. Within seconds, he was thudding down onto the road, just behind the jeep, and he wrenched the steering wheel sideways to follow.

 

                As they turned a corner a minute later, a massive lake stood in their path, and Bucky thought he had them. Until Rumlow kept driving that is. Straight into the water. Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat as the jeep shuddered, dropped down a bit, until only the heads of the two people inside were visible, the windshield keeping the water at bay. A windshield he didn’t have. He managed to pull himself to a stop just as he entered the lake, water splashing up and making him gasp at the temperature. He looked at the jeep for a moment, taking in the windshield, and the exhaust pipe that was at the top of the car, still above the water. Glancing back, he realised his own exhaust was too low. He had to think of something else.

 

                Something came to him, a snippet of a memory from his army days, and _fuck_ he hoped it was real, and accurate, because if it wasn’t, he would lose the ATV.

 

 _Drive fast, drive hard, drive **over the surface of the water**_.

 

                In theory, it was simple – hit the water with enough speed to create a tension surface, move on before that surface disappeared. He wasn’t a scientist, not like the poor kid who’d told him that just weeks before he’d been shot, so he had no idea whether it was actually true.

 

                He did it anyway.

 

                Backing the ATV up far enough to get a good starting speed, Bucky took a deep breath, watching the jeep pull out of the water on the other side. Now or never.

 

                Slamming his foot on the gas, he switched up into the highest gear, throwing the ATV forward. He didn’t pull back, even though instinct was screaming at him to stop as soon as his tyres hit the water. He knew, though, if he slowed down, he was screwed, so he fought it, just pressed down harder.

 

                It worked.

 

                Water came flying up from the tyres, and at one point the whole ATV lurched down for a moment, but Bucky held himself very still, only moving to turn the wheel as he drifted sideways. It only took a minute, less even, to cross the lake, but Bucky was breathing hard by the time his tyres hit solid ground, absolutely shaking with adrenalin. He couldn’t have a moment to calm down, though, not yet, and didn’t let the ATV slow, heading up onto the road and straight after the jeep. He dimly wondered where Steve was, how he was going to get past the lake on his bike, how far behind he was, but pushed that to the side as he started to gain on the jeep.

 

                Then, mere minutes later, Steve answered all of his silent questions by launching out of the trees on their left, just ahead of the jeep. Steve slowed slightly, pulling to the edge of the road, and Bucky heard a gunshot echo, just audible over the roar of the engine. He tensed, but instead of Steve falling back, the jeep lurched, Rumlow desperately trying to keep control. Bucky realised Steve must have shot out a tyre, grinned to himself, only to gasp as Rumlow jerked back towards Steve, knocking him, and the bike, down the slope. He watched in horror as Peggy yelled Steve’s name, and Steve hit something, going flying forward, the bike breaking apart as it flew after him.

 

                He had to concentrate, though, even though every part of him was absolutely _terrified_ for Steve, and he brought the ATV up alongside the jeep on Peggy’s side. Peggy looked at him, eyes wide, and he mouthed _‘hold on’_ at her. As soon as she did that, nodding slightly, he wrenched the wheel, slamming the ATV into the jeep and sending the smaller vehicle rolling.

 

                Bucky pulled to a stop as Peggy’s shocked scream echoed, and the jeep rolled down the slope below them, coming to a halt on its roof not far below. There was absolute silence, and, almost as if something above was laughing at them, the clouds that had been threatening all day finally opening, rain starting to pour over them. Bucky scrabbled with his seatbelt, throwing himself out of the car and running down the slope to the jeep. He ran around to Peggy’s side, uncaring about Rumlow, and eased her door open carefully, picking her up carefully. Or, trying to. She’d been thrown out of her seat, but she was handcuffed to a rail, and Bucky growled, yanking on it hard. Once, twice, the rail gave on the third yank, and Peggy whimpered quietly. He pulled her out of the wreck, as careful as he could, and settled her down on the coarse grass, brushing her hair out of her face.

 

                She gave him a shaky smile, and he opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, she was yelling his name, eyes going wide as she focused on something behind him. Bucky turned, yanking the gun on his belt out and raising it, but he wasn’t fast enough. Rumlow swung, with what looked like a tyre iron, knocking the gun out of his hands before knocking Bucky sideways as well. He was glad he’d drawn the weapon with his left hand, otherwise he was pretty sure the hit would have broken his wrist.

 

                Rumlow kicked out, hitting Bucky in the chest as he tried to push himself upright, sending him tumbling back and down the slope a few feet. The man followed, kicking him again, and he grunted, managing to stop himself from falling back this time. Rumlow swung, and Bucky managed to get his left hand up in time to block, but he kicked while Bucky was preoccupied, hitting him in the jaw. Bucky stumbled back on his hands, catching himself as pain flared through him, and Rumlow took the opportunity to strike again, cracking the tyre iron across Bucky’s face.

 

 _Fuck_ that hurt.

 

                Before he could swing again, there was a noise, and Bucky focused enough through the pain to see Peggy jumping on Rumlow’s back. He managed to toss her over one shoulder, and she landed hard on her back. Bucky looked over at her, noting she looked dazed but otherwise okay, before he heard a click.

 

                Looking back at Rumlow, he held his breath, hands coming up, placating, as Rumlow pointed Bucky’s gun at him.

 

                Before he could shoot, there was a yell from behind him, and Rumlow turned, gun starting to follow. Steve, _Steve_ , threw the remnants of the motorbike, catching Rumlow full in the chest and sending him toppling backwards. The man scrabbled for the gun again as Steve stumbled, and Bucky saw the wicked-looking knife Steve drew as Steve dropped to his knees. Rumlow lurched forward, bringing the gun around, and Steve’s hand jabbed forward. Everything seemed to stop for a moment as Steve held Rumlow’s gaze, before Rumlow topped sideways, red trails of blood leaking from his mouth.

 

                It was over.

 

                Steve didn’t turn for a moment, and Bucky glanced over to Peggy, but something caught his eye. Pushing forward, he stretched out a hand, fingers closing around the small disc he’d been commanded to retrieve. He hid it away in the folds of his uniform as he struggled to his feet.

 

                The movement must have caught Steve’s attention, because he was standing, hurrying over, saying Bucky’s name worriedly. Bucky lifted a hand, and Steve took it, pulling him to his feet carefully. “I’ll be okay,” Bucky managed before Steve was pulling him into a tight hug. Bucky barely had time to react, wrap his arms around Steve and hug him back, before Steve was pulling back, nodding. He moved on then, dropping to his knees before s trembling Peggy, the shock starting to get to her as the adrenaline faded. He heard Steve whisper to her, saw him pull her up into his arms and hug her tightly before a loud noise above them had all three looking up.

 

                A helicopter flew over them, one Bucky recognised, and he relaxed as it touched down on a flat area, British agents coming swarming out. They were quickly surrounded, herded, or carried in Peggys’ case, towards the helicopter where Fury stood with a medic. Bucky heard someone loudly pronounce Rumlow dead, and relaxed slightly, submitting to medical treatment. In the end, he only had bad bruising and a few cuts, and Peggy was only slightly worse with a twisted ankle and some superficial grazes as well as the slowly-abating shock tremors. Steve grumbled and snapped, but reluctantly allowed the medic to strap his broken ribs, before the three of them were given towels to dry off and Peggy was wrapped up in a blanket, the medic crouching at her feet and keeping her concentrating on him.

 

                They settled, watching Fury stand with two agents working on the bomb recovered from the wreck, and Bucky bumped his knee against Steve’s, unable to not touch him. Steve responded with a little smile, pressing his leg to Bucky’s as he rubbed his hand over Peggy’s shoulder.

 

                Fury approached them, and Bucky pushed himself to sit a little straighter as he spoke. “Well done, there’s just one small snag.” Bucky frowned, looking between the bomb and Fury, suddenly realising what Fury was about to inform them.

 

                “Wrong warhead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one i know, next one will make up for it i promise!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i promised a longer chapter then up and disappeared, i know, i suck!
> 
> really though, sorry about the delay on this one, real life has been getting ahead of me, and working with academics is an excercise in frustration.
> 
> but alas, here it is! a little more monologue than usual, but i hope it works alright.

                They were all herded onto the helicopter, the bomb settled carefully in the middle, and Peggy was cuddled up to the hot-running Steve as they were taken back to the aircraft carrier. “So it’s a decoy,” Bucky said, staring at the bomb for a moment before looking up at Fury.

 

                “No no, it’s a real bomb, and a rather nasty one too. But it’s not nuclearized, there’s no uranium in it.”

 

                Peggy frowned slightly, before speaking up, drawing their attention to her. “There was a second warhead in the lab,” she said firmly, and the entire helicopter went silent as they realised they may still have a chance. A small one, but a chance all the same.

 

                By the time they reached the carrier, people had splintered off into their own conversations, but Bucky remained quiet, trying to work out what _his_ next step would have been had he been Pierce. When they landed, the Captain of the carrier was waiting on deck, and Fury headed straight for him, wincing a little at the noise of the helicopter. “Did you check everything I asked, Captain?” he asked, and the man nodded.

 

                “Radar, sonar, aerial patrols, all report no other vehicles have left this island since last night. Not even submarines.” The man reported, and Bucky glanced over to Peggy, to see her frowning at the small herd of scientists being ushered away. One looked back, biting his lip, and was promptly nudged to keep following the others.

 

                “What about fishing boats leaving the mainland?” Steve asked before Bucky could get to it, and Fury looked back at them, before nodding slightly.

 

                They were led inside, up to the main cabin again, and Bucky was left to wonder what had gone on in Peggy’s mind just then. The Harbour Master was brought in, and agreed to help instantly, without even having to be threatened which was a nice change.

 

                “The boats go out every morning at dawn,” he said firmly, and Steve nodded, leaning forward slightly towards the man.

 

                “Da, I saw them. How many of them are there?”

 

                “Almost one hundred,” The Harbour Master reported as Steve leant against the table, Bucky still trying to work out if he had seen anything pointing towards _anything_ that would help them identify the boat. “They are spread out over almost a sixty-kilometre radius by now.” He pointed at the map, indicating the area he’d drawn in with a compass.

 

                “And this radius is expanding every minute, we don’t even know which boat we’re looking for.” The Captain said in frustration, and something _clicked_ in Bucky’s mind.

 

                “You have a list ofthe boats?” He asked sharply, stepping forward as the Harbour Master nodded, handed over a clipboard. Bucky scanned the names, following the inkling he had, the memory of pictures in Pierce’s office, of a small replica fishing boat at the party the week before.

 

                He flipped the page, and Fury stepped forward, up to the table. “The submarine surfaces at oh-eight-hundred hours,” Fury said sharply. “That gives us twenty minutes, gentlemen.”

 

                A name stood out, short and simple in the list of longer boat names, and Bucky tapped his finger down on it. “Diadema,” he said loudly, and everyone looked at him. “That’s Pierce’s father’s old fishing boat. I suggest we start there.” He looked at the Harbour Master. “Can you get them on the radio?”

 

                Fury spoke, turning to the Captain and his crew. “Now, you can get a bearing from the radio signal, right?”

 

                “If we keep them broadcasting long enough,” The Captain confirmed with a nod.

 

                “I have an idea which might make things go a little faster,” Peggy said abruptly, looking at the Captain, then at Fury. Fury nodded, and she smiled slightly, explaining what she knew, before being led off after the scientists, Steve following along.

 

                The Harbour Master was given the radio, and he tuned it in to the standard frequency before speaking in Italian. “ _Diadema, come in Diadema, this is the Harbour Master._ ” He said in a clear voice, and there was no response. He repeated himself in the exact same tone, and still, no response. He spoke again, a little louder, a little more urgent, and finally, there was a response. A click, then a man’s voice. Fury looked up, as did Bucky, tuning in now that they were getting somewhere.

 

                “ _Harbour Master_ ,” He acknowledged, before confirming, “ _This is Diadema._ ”

 

                “ _Diadema, I have a message for Alexander Pierce_ ,” The Harbour Master said, as he was told to, and there was silence on the other end.

 

                “ _Captain, I have no idea what you’re talking about_.”

 

                There was silence in the control room, and Fury grit his teeth, looking like he was about to pop a vein. The Captain broke the silence, reporting, “Ten minutes and counting.”

 

                Fury turned, facing Bucky, and said, “Mr. Barnes, this is your cue, thank you,” and Bucky nodded, stepping up to the radio as the Harbour Master held out the receiver.

 

                He thought for a moment, before lifting the receiver to his mouth, speaking clearly and in English. “Diadema, this is James Barnes.” He paused a moment, before speaking directly to Pierce. “Hello Alexander, I suspect you are already listening, so I’ll give you this message directly. Earlier today, I killed your right hand man.”

 

                “We’re wasting our time, this isn’t working,” Bucky heard the Captain say, and held out a hand, asking silently for just a moment longer.

 

                “If you could just shut up for just a moment longer Captain,” Fury vocalised the request, before nodding at Bucky. “Ramp it up please, Barnes, c’mon.”

 

                “I’d like to report that he died honourably, selflessly, and courageously, but he didn’t. Instead, it was a rather pitiful affair involving tears, begging, and offers to trade anything, and indeed any _one_ , so that I would spare his life.” There was a moment of silence before Pierce’s voice crackled over the speakers.

 

                “James,” He said sharply, and Bucky glanced at Fury. “I appreciate your message, and now I hope you’ll appreciate mine. Any blood relation of yours still living will be dead within a year.” The threat had his heart clench, even though he knew Pierce wouldn’t last to see it carried out. “They will die slowly and painfully. As you know from personal experience, this is an area in which we excel.”

 

                There was a yell from behind him and he didn’t turn, but let himself smile just a little at what was said. “Bearing 0-4-5 Captain!”

 

                “There’s nothing you will be able to do but witness their suffering,” Pierce continued, blissfully unaware. “As you await your own death, which I will save for last. This I vow on the soul of my Second.”

 

                “It’s all yours, Captain, thank you,” Bucky heard Fury say behind him, and he leant forward, still holding the receiver loosely in his hands.

 

                “Won’t you have to inform your organisation to achieve that?” He said with a little smirk as he heard people come into the room.

 

                “After we deliver the warhead you so desperately sought,” Pierce drawled, still thinking he’d won, “It will be the first item on my agenda. And you will die, Barnes, knowing you failed completely. We have the doctor’s computer disc, we can build as many bombs as we need.”

 

                As Pierce was talking, Bucky glanced over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow when he saw that Steve and Peggy had returned. Steve nodded slightly, quirked an eyebrow back, and the Captain spoke. “Ready.”

 

                “Yes, proceed, please Captain,” Fury said sharply in return, and the entire room paused, watching what was happening just outside the window. Bucky clicked his receiver on, raising it to his mouth slowly, eyes still locked on the events unfolding outside.

 

                “I see one flaw in that plan.”

 

                “Entertain me,” was the drawled response from the other end.

 

                Bucky grinned, straightening slightly as he heard Steve come up behind him. “While you’ve been telling me how dangerous you are, we’ve been locking on to your radio signal. Now we have your general location.”

 

                “That won’t help you much, I’ll be gone in five minutes.” Pierce had no idea how right he was.

 

                “I haven’t finished. The coupling device that you so considerately left us on your decoy warhead … is accurate to ten feet. That warhead, although not nuclear, shouldn’t have any trouble obliterating a medium sized fishing boat.” Bucky paused, but Pierce remained silent. “The aforementioned warhead launched,” Bucky checked his watch. “Forty five seconds ago. Giving you about thirty seconds until impact. It won’t trigger the nuclear warhead, of course, as that requires fission. So … if you do want to make good on your vow, I suggest you abandon ship immediately.”

 

                Bucky paused, and his grin was evident in his voice as he finished, “How’s _that_ for entertainment?”

 

                There was silence, and then the radio cut out with a crackle. Fury was handed a pair of binoculars and checked the general location they knew Pierce’s boat was in. After a moment, he nodded, and there was a relieved sigh echoing around the cabin. “Very good,” Fury said after a moment. Well done, Barnes.”

 

 

 

                From there, they weren’t left alone, not for very long at least.

 

                There was the briefest moment, just as Bucky was finishing changing back into his suit, when Steve was in the room with him. He stood close, brushed his fingers carefully over the growing bruise on Bucky’s jaw. He looked distraught, and Bucky cupped Steve’s hand in his, opening his mouth to say something reassuring. Before he could say anything, the agent that had brought Bucky down here to change called out, and Bucky sighed. Steve gave him a little smile before stepping back, letting Bucky gather the tactical gear and head out with a final glance in Steve’s direction.

 

                That was it, for nearly the rest of the day. They were shuttled in and out of debriefs and meetings, ordered back into medical after admitting what had happened with Zola and the chair. Bucky didn’t even catch a glimpse of Steve after that. He hated that he couldn’t go see his fella, couldn’t kiss him in front of everyone, couldn’t spend time reassuring Steve that he was okay.

 

                It almost felt wrong to be thinking of Steve as ‘his fella’, to assume Steve wanted anything with him now that their roles were over. But a pretty big part of him was reminding him of Steve’s expression earlier, Steve’s reactions to Bucky getting hurt. The way Steve looked at him when he thought Bucky wasn’t looking. But, fuck he couldn’t think about that.

 

                The items in his pocked weighed him down as he headed out of the final medical check, and he wiggled his left fingers absently as he thought. He couldn’t tell Steve he had the doctor’s research disc, couldn’t force Steve’s hand. He knew exactly what Steve had been told, because it was the same thing Bucky had been. _Kill the other, if necessary_.

 

                But part of him did want to, wanted to see what Steve would choose when faced with the knowledge that Bucky had what Steve’s bosses wanted. It would make things clear in a blunt kind of way.

 

                Bucky was still thinking it over as he was led to the helicopter that was going to fly back to the mainland, completely unsurprised to see that Steve wasn’t there. He settled in the farthest corner from the door, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring at his feet mulishly. A foot appearing in his field of vision startled him, and he watched as it kicked his own, let his feet tip to the side before rocking back to their starting position. Looking up, Bucky met Steve’s gaze as he sat opposite, and he forced a smile. Steve’s eyebrows went up, and he returned the smile with a half-smile of his own, but he didn’t move his feet from where they sat against Bucky’s.

 

                Steve opened his mouth to speak, but Bucky shook his head slightly, eyes flicking to where Peggy was climbing in, before back to Steve, then dropping to his feet again as Peggy gave them an apologetic look. Bucky shrugged a shoulder, the gesture small, and Steve nudged his foot with one of his own as Fury clambered in after Peggy.

 

                The flight back was silent, Fury seeming to respect the fact that none of them really wanted to talk after everything that had happened, and Bucky was grateful. The ride from the airport was equally silent, but had the added bonus of Steve’s knee pressed against his, Steve’s body turned to face him just enough to keep the contact as they looked anywhere but each other.

 

                They were shuffled out of the car and back into the hotel through the back service exit, and Bucky had to fight to keep his eyes up and away from Steve. Peggy snickered behind him, not missing a beat, but they separated on the steps with a promise to meet in Bucky’s room for drinks after they’d packed.

 

                Bucky spent the whole time rummaging around his room thinking about how things were going to play out. Yeah, he had one more trick up his sleeve, but ultimately, they were going to be parting ways within the next few days. Probably for good. And honestly, no matter how much he wanted _everything_ Steve has to give, Bucky wasn’t sure it was fair on either of them. They couldn’t exactly be open about their relationship, even if they’d been two regular guys. Add to that the fact that they not only lived on opposite sides of the world, but technically worked for government agencies that hated each other, and it became basically impossible. It was the rational thing to do, to step back. Steve deserved to be with someone he could show off, he could unapologetically be with. Someone he could actually spend time with whenever he wanted.

 

                Someone better for him than Bucky.

 

                Bucky wasn’t entirely sure when this had happened, when his attraction had tipped over into something _more_. It made things really _fucking_ difficult.

 

                Shaking his head at himself, Bucky grabbed one of his waistcoats, folding it carefully, before a knock at the door had him looking up. The waistcoat went in his suitcase, and he headed for the door on quiet feet, a habit he had never been able to break.

 

                Pulling it open, Bucky wasn’t able to stop the smile spreading across his face when he saw Steve on the other side. Stepping back, he said, “Come in, I’m just finishing up,” as he gave the other man room to enter.

 

                Something wasn’t quite right, he could see it immediately. It was in the rigidity of Steve’s posture, and the forced calm of his face. It was his hands, clenching and unclenching at his sides, and in his shoulders, tense enough to snap. Bucky swallowed hard, before turning on his heel as though he hadn’t noticed anything, waving a hand towards his alcohol cabinet. “Fix us a couple of drinks? I think we’ve earned them,” he said easily, heading back into the bedroom portion.

 

                “I guess it’s business as usual now,” Bucky said as he stood in front of the dressing table, packing up all of his smaller bits methodically. Razor and brush packed into the side of his toiletries bag, small mirror packed in carefully between them. “Back to how things were? Politics being what they are.” Bucky knew he was rambling, paused, leaning to the side to peer around the dividing wall at Steve.

 

                Who was standing next to the table, bottle in hand, staring at the piles of clothing next to Bucky’s suitcase. Bucky raised an eyebrow, and cleared his throat. Steve jumped, flushing slightly, before looking back down at his hands, busying himself with pouring the drinks. Bucky turned, one eyebrow raised, and spotted what Steve had obviously seen, poking out from under the last waistcoat in the pile.

 

                Well, that answered that question.

 

                Steve could pretend he hadn’t seen the disc, sure. Bucky could slide it into his bag and they could have their drinks, and maybe Steve would let Bucky touch him, one last time before they went their separate ways. But Bucky knew Steve, better than he thought he would when this had all started.

 

                So, after setting his toiletries bag in his suitcase, Bucky slid his fingers under a pile of shirts, pulled his pistol out of its hiding place and set it on top of the pile. Not visible, not threatening, but there. “Are you … feeling okay?” he asked carefully as he went back to packing his clothes into the suitcase, leaving the disc sitting on the low bench completely uncovered.

 

                When Steve didn’t answer, Bucky straightened, turning slightly to look at the blond. Steve nodded, still silent, and fastened the lid on the bottle, before setting it down on the table. Bucky looked back at his case, slid the gun out of its holster, and sighed.

 

                “So, what now?” Bucky asked, watching the small mirror on the nightstand. Steve had turned to face him fully, was tugging the zipper of his jacket down. “Mission accomplished? Head back to Russia?” he continued, fingers searching through the piles of clothing for his trump card.

 

                “Something like that, yes.” Steve finally spoke, soft and a little strained. “You?”

 

                “New York,” Bucky responded, just as softly, watching Steve reach inside his jacket in the mirror. He palmed his gun, then decided to take a chance, grabbing the thing he’d been looking for and turning on his heel.

 

                “Almost forgot. Got something for you,” Bucky said with a little smile, tossing the item towards Steve. Steve instinctively stepped forward, both hands coming up – empty thank God – to catch it.  Before staring at his hands blankly.

 

                Bucky folded his arms across his chest, widening his stance just a little as Steve turned the watch over in his hands, eyes flicking up to Bucky before back down to it. He turned it over, mouth falling open slightly in shock, before shoving his sleeve up, fastening it around his wrist.

 

                When Steve looked up at him this time, he looked almost sad, uncertain for the first time. “You know what my mission is?”

 

                “Same as mine was,” Bucky said with a soft sigh. “Kill me if necessary, to get that.” He waved his hand back at the uncovered disc, eyes not leaving Steve’s.

 

                Steve stepped forward, a single, jerky movement, before grinding to a halt again. “What if-” He cut himself off, jaw clenching as he looked away. “I’ve never failed. Not like this. Not for something like this.”

 

                Bucky couldn’t stay away then, crossing the room and catching Steve’s arms in his hands, gripping his biceps firmly, but not tightly. “You don’t have to.”

 

                Steve frowned in confusion, eyes coming back to Bucky, and the brunet smiled, just a little. “If neither of us have it, there’s no mission to finish, yes?” Steve nodded slowly, and Bucky slid his hands up to Steve’s shoulders, squeezing slightly before he stepped away again.

 

                “Bring the drinks?” Bucky said with a raised eyebrow, crossing the room and grabbing the disc before heading outside, onto the patio. There was a small table, already set up for the arrival of the others, and honestly, the view was stunning. But that wasn’t what Bucky was looking at. Instead, he focused on the table, on crystal cigarette ash tray sitting on top.

 

                He heard Steve follow him out, and cracked open the disc casing, pulling out the reels of light-sensitive paper as he headed for the table. Bucky didn’t even think twice before crumpling it, dropping it in the tray before patting his pockets, fingers seeking out his lighter. A click, a small crackle, and the paper caught, flames flickering cheerily as they destroyed the evidence.

 

                “Mission accomplished,” he said smugly, and started to turn when he felt Steve press up behind him. Bucky couldn’t help himself, despite everything, and relaxed back against him as Steve’s arms came around him, drinks having already been set on the table. Warm lips pressed against the back of his neck, and Bucky sighed happily, head tipping forward in invitation.

 

                Before anything more could happen, there was another knock at the inside door, and Bucky stepped away reluctantly, grabbing for one of the glasses on the table. “It’s open,” he called, and the door clicked open. Bucky turned away, unwilling to let anyone see just how affected he was by a touch that, for all intents and purposes, hadn’t happened.

 

                “Rather a touching scene,” came Fury’s voice, scarily relaxed for the first time since Bucky had met him. “A nice view, glass of whisky … and a little bonfire to keep you warm.” Bucky turned then, and Fury looked more amused than anything, even with half his face hidden behind sunglasses. “Rather a good idea.”

 

                “So I have news,” Fury continued, and Bucky raised his eyebrow, taking a sip from his glass as Peggy smirked at them over Fury’s shoulder. “A fresh little unpleasantness has arisen. I’ve spoken to your superiors, and, now that we’re all such good friends here, they’ve kindly agreed to let me keep the team together for a while.”

 

                Bucky’s breath caught at that, and his eyes slid to Steve. He’d never even _considered_ that possibility. Hadn’t even thought about being given the chance to stay around Steve.

 

                “We leave tomorrow morning.”

 

                “Where are we going?” Steve said suddenly. He looked just as stunned by the information as Bucky felt, and _God_ Bucky hoped it was for a similar reason.

 

                “Istanbul, Rogers,” Fury answered, deadpan. “You’ll need your curly-wurly shoes.” Fury turned to leave, started walking, only to pause, looking back over his shoulder at the three of them. “Oh, and you have a new code name.”

 

                “Code name?” Bucky said incredulously, watching the man go.

 

                “Yes, rather a good one. S.H.I.E.L.D.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two more chapters to goooo, i wonder what'll happen next? 
> 
> (hint: sap. and smut.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god i'm so sorry this took as long as it did. things kinda turned to crap on me at the start of this year and haven't been getting any better, so i wanted to take my time and make sure u got the final chapter u all deserved.
> 
> you'll notice something here if that was something you paid attention to - i've changed the chapter count. i decided the two chapters i had planned were overkill, and merged them into the one chapter, which i hope was worth the wait. 
> 
> thank you all for taking a chance on this, and thank you all for your support and comments and subscriptions, it doesn't seem like much but every little thing got me another step closer to finishing this and for that i'm infinitely grateful.
> 
> shoutout to @mashtonmental and @boob-rainbows on tumblr for running over this before i posted it ♥ bless u both

One year, ten missions later, they were still working together, still living together, still together despite the odds. They’d told Peggy pretty damned fast, and ever since Fury had walked in on them lip locked in Bucky’s hotel room on the second mission, they hadn’t bothered hiding their relationship from the team.

 

                That team had expanded since then, and anyone that hadn’t been accepting of their relationship had been less than politely moved on by Fury, which was a blessing and a half. Those that remained – Peggy, Natasha, Clint, Tony, Sam – were not only accepting of their relationship, they downright encouraged it.  

 

                Now? Now Bucky was so fucking head over heels for his fella that he didn’t know which way was up. If the way Steve looked at him when he thought Bucky couldn’t see was any indicator of his feelings on the topic, Steve felt the same way.

 

                Honestly, Bucky didn’t know what was going to happen with them. Two men loving each other was halfway to accepted in some cases, but in others it was more than just hated. And while everything in him wanted to put a ring on Steve’s finger and make Steve _his_ , he knew that no one would legalise it, no one would accept it, and for all their abilities and support, Steve could be hurt in the fallout. Because Bucky wasn’t dumb, far from it,he’d done his reading, done his research. Nine times out of ten any same sex couple that was out about their relationship was at the very least scorned, if not actually attacked.

 

                But that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. And exist well. And Bucky wanted that with Steve, wanted _more_ with every part of him when he already had everything Steve had to give. Part of him felt selfish for it, but the rest of him _needed_ Steve with every remaining fucking cell in his body.

 

                And that’s why he’d let Tony, of all people, talk him into this.

 

                Steve was still in his solo debrief with Fury, which gave Bucky the time he needed to stop his hands from shaking, stop his leg from bouncing when he sat, to stop himself from pacing when he stood. He still had his own debrief, sure, but if Steve saw him jittering, he wouldn’t let it be until Bucky blurted out everything.

 

                When Steve got back, Bucky was outwardly calm, smiling as Steve came out onto the balcony, reeling his partner in for a kiss.  Bucky had to push Steve away to break the kiss, and Steve grinned unrepentantly. Steve was like a drug, and twelve hours without the taste of him on Bucky’s lips had him wanting nothing more than to latch on and never let go. Steve grinned like he knew it, the smug bastard, and nodded towards the room. Bucky rolled his eyes, turned on his heel, and headed inside, only to look back at Steve over his shoulder when he felt Steve’s hand slap his ass lightly. Steve just gave him an innocent look, so Bucky didn’t say anything, just rolled his eyes and headed inside to meet Fury.

 

                Thankfully, Steve hadn’t looked too hard at him, or the left pocket of his slacks.

 

                Bucky’s own debrief was short, thank god, and it ended with the man palming Bucky’s shoulder and squeezing it lightly, before giving him a light shove towards the door. Knowing it was as close to approving as the man gave, Bucky nodded, left without a word, hands sliding into his pockets and left fingers closing around the box there.

 

                When he reached their room again, everyone else was there, inside while Steve was still out on the balcony, completely unaware that he wasn’t alone. Bucky let himself in quietly, did everything he could to not make a sound as he closed the door behind him, shed his suit jacket, and walked outside. Bucky thought he’d managed it this time, for _once_ , but when he came up behind Steve, who was leaning on the balcony railing, and slipped his arms around Steve’s waist, the other man didn’t even twitch.

 

                “Damn,” Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss to Steve’s shoulder, and Steve laughed quietly, turning his head. Bucky gave him the kiss he was looking for, then leaned against Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder with a sigh. “I’m never gonna manage it am I?”

 

                “Maybe,” Steve said with a grin as he turned back to the view. Mid-afternoon in the middle of Istanbul was an absolute sight to be sure. Bucky could understand why Steve had been out here. But Bucky only had eyes only for Steve.

 

                “How do you do it?” Bucky complained, fingers smoothing over Steve’s stomach lightly before coming to rest on Steve’s hips. “How the hell do you always catch me?”

 

                “Everything is quieter when you’re around,” Steve said lightly, then snorted as if he’d said something he found amusing. “Wherever we are, it just feels different when you come in. Even when we’re not alone.”

 

                Bucky snorted at that, kissed the back of Steve’s neck. “How long have you known?”

 

                “Peggy showed up just after you left. God knows what she’s doing in there. Tony arrived ten minutes ago, Natasha not long after that, though I don’t know exactly when. Clint’s the loudest as always, just after Nat. Sam last, only about five minutes ago. Any reason they’re hiding in our room?” Bucky couldn’t see it, but he didn’t need the visual confirmation to know Steve’s expression – that shit-eating smirk with an eyebrow raised, all ‘ _gotcha_ ’.

 

                “They’re waiting for something,” Bucky murmured, heart in his throat. This was it, do or die really.

 

                “Waiting for what?” Steve shot back, not turning so much as tipping his head back slightly.

 

                Bucky stepped back, hand digging in his pocket and pulling out the little box that had been weighing him down all day. As Steve started to turn, confused noise caught in his throat, Bucky dropped to one knee, flipped the box open, and said, “This.”

 

                Steve froze as soon as he’d turned far enough, eyes wide in sudden understanding, fingers going white with how hard he was gripping the railing behind him. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes flicked between Bucky’s face and the box – or, more correctly, to the ring nestled inside.

 

                It took Bucky a moment to speak over the pounding in his ears, but he swallowed hard, meeting Steve’s gaze and holding it. “Steve. Stevie. It only took a few days for me to be trusting you. It only took a few short weeks to realise how absolutely head over fucking heels I was for you. This past year has been hard, yeah, but it’s been the time of my life because I’ve been able to spend it next to you, and honestly? I don’t feel like I belong anywhere else. I love you more than anything Steve, and if I could spend the rest of my life with you, it’d be the greatest damned thing to happen to me, because _you’re_ the greatest damned thing to happen to me.” He shook his head slightly, eyes not leaving Steve’s. “I know now isn’t a great time for people like us, couples like us, so this is more of a placeholder really, until we go somewhere it’s legal, or somewhere gets it’s shit together, but-“

 

                “Buck,” Steve breathed, barely a whisper but it was enough to make Bucky shut his trap, to let Steve talk. “Buck, shut up and ask?”

 

                Bucky let out a soft laugh, then lifted his hands, the box, the ring, his head a little higher, and said softly, with absolute conviction, “Steve, light of my life, would you make me the happiest man on the planet? Marry me?”

 

                Steve’s hand closed over his, trapping the box between their hands as he tugged Bucky up. “Yes you big sap, of course I’ll marry you.” His voice broke on the last word, but it didn’t matter to either of them, not really. Because Bucky’s arms were around him, Bucky’s lips on his, and everything in Bucky was screaming he said yes.

 

                They were made aware of their surrounding again with the sound of cheering, a loud wolf-whistle coming from an absolutely unrepentant Clint. Bucky pulled back slightly, grinning at Steve’s flush, and bumped his nose lightly against Steve’s before pulling the ring out of its box, letting the box fall to the ground as he held it up. Steve didn’t hesitate, holding his left hand up, and when Bucky slid it into place, another round of cheering and applause broke out.

 

                “You’re all mine now,” Bucky said with a grin, and Steve rolled his eyes.

 

                “First thing tomorrow, I’m getting you one to match,” Steve murmured. “As much as I like being yours, you’re mine as well.”

 

                Bucky made a noise of approval, and they finally broke apart, only to be handed glasses of champagne by Tony, who had that look on his face that said _don’t question where it came from._ They were passed from person to person, getting handshakes and hugs and salacious winks, an ass-pat from Peggy coupled with a grin, and even Fury looked amused.

 

                “We’re back to work on Thursday,” he added after congratulating the pair, before nodding and disappearing out the door. Bucky wasn’t sure when he’d actually come in, but honestly he wasn’t surprised. The man could be as quiet as Natasha if he wanted to be.

 

                Eventually someone had the grand idea of calling room service and they ate and drank late into the night, dancing to the radio Sam had switched on, never once questioning the never-ending flow of champagne. Bucky never left Steve’s side, fingers linked with Steve’s, every so often rubbing the pad of a finger against the quickly-warming metal on Steve’s skin. Every time he did that, Steve gave him an indulgent smile, leaning over and kissing the increasingly smug look off Bucky’s face. More than once Clint called them disgustingly sweet, and Nat gagged overdramatically whenever Bucky held something out for Steve to eat – which he did, slowly and smugly, never failing to flick his tongue across the pad of Bucky’s finger, or nip the skin lightly. It was a good night.

 

                It was two in the morning before the last person, Sam, departed to his own room, leaving the couple alone for the first time in hours. Steve closed the door behind Sam, careful not to be too loud considering the time, and Bucky couldn’t resist, stepping in close. He pressed himself to Steve’s back with a hum, herding him forward with a hand between Steve’s shoulder blades until he hit the closed door with a soft thud.

 

                Sliding his arms around Steve, Bucky pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, rubbing his nose lightly against the sensitive area. He grinned at Steve’s responding shiver, oh so gently closing his teeth over the spot. Steve gasped softly, one hand flying back to clutch at Bucky’s hip, and squeezing firmly.

 

                “Just because they’re gone doesn’t mean the celebrations are over Stevie,” Bucky murmured, grinning at Steve’s quiet noise. “Is that what you want?” He leaned in to whisper against Steve’s ear.

 

                Steve turned in a sharp move, facing Bucky before walking him backwards, hands planted on Bucky’s chest. “Yeah, I want,” He said with a grin, and Bucky opened his mouth to respond before yelping as Steve gave him a shove.

 

                He stumbled back a step, then let himself fall, trusting Steve to not lead him wrong. Sure enough, he hit the plush mattress, and Bucky shoved himself up until he was fully on top of it. He yanked his shirt over his head, completely ignoring the buttons, and tossed it to the side somewhere as Steve did the same. Bucky settled back on the mattress as Steve shed the rest of his clothes as well, before crawling up Bucky’s body to straddle his waist. He ran his fingers up Bucky’s chest, gently passing over the faint bruises left over from the mission. Bucky caught Steve’s hands, brought them up to his mouth, and brushed a kiss over Steve’s knuckles with a little smile. Steve twisted his hands, cupping Bucky’s jaw lightly. He leaned in, kissed Bucky soft and slow, then his lips trailed over Bucky’s cheek, grinning at the feeling of Bucky’s stubble.

 

                “I like this,” Steve murmured, nipping at Bucky’s jaw, and Bucky huffed a laugh as Steve continued, “Been wanting to feel it between my legs since you started growing it in.”

 

                Bucky raised an eyebrow, hands dropping to Steve’s hips before urging him upwards. “Go on then,” he said with a smirk, supremely pleased when Steve took him at his word. With a faint blush on his cheeks, Steve crawled up, pausing when his knees reached Bucky’s armpits. Bucky grinned wide, tipping his head back slightly. “All the way Stevie.”

 

                Steve flushed deeper, the pink tinge spreading down his throat and across his chest as he kept moving, until his knees bracketed Bucky’s head. He looked down at Bucky, who was too busy staring at the dick right in front of his face. He lifted his head slightly, licked a stripe up the underside, relishing in the surprised moan that got him.

 

                Bucky shifted, hands on Steve’s hips holding him in place, and when he was where Bucky wanted him to be, slid his hands down to palm Steve’s ass. He rubbed his chin back and forth over Steve’s skin, grinning at the strangled gasp, then spread Steve’s cheeks. He wasted no time, tilting his head up and licking over Steve’s hole, humming softly as Steve’s immediate response was so push back against his tongue. Bucky rubbed his nose over Steve’s perineum, then licked again, before really settling into eating Steve out like he deserved.

 

                By the time Steve’s hole was sloppy and loose, the surrounding skin was rubbed red, and Steve’s moans had dwindled to aborted shouts and soft whimpers. Bucky felt something cool nudge his cheek and held out a hand, completely unsurprised to find an open bottle of lube. With a flick of his wrist, and a stabilising hand from Steve, he had three fingers of his right hand coated, before he brought his hand back into place.

 

                Bucky teased Steve with light brushes, just running the pad of a finger over his hole again and again until Steve whined Bucky’s name. “Alright alright,” Bucky murmured, nipping the curve of Steve’s ass lightly before working the tip of his finger into Steve. When Steve only pressed back, silently demanding more, he kept going, until he had one finger completely buried in Steve.

 

                He licked around the finger before curling it, making Steve gasp and demand, “More,” in a broken voice. Bucky hummed in thought, as if he were considering not giving Steve what he wanted, and Steve whined wordlessly, rocking his hips down against Bucky’s finger, against his mouth.

 

                “When have I ever not given you what you wanted?” Bucky murmured, amused, and Steve looked down at him, narrowing his eyes slightly. Before he could answer, Bucky worked his finger in deeper, twisting it sharply and grazing Steve’s prostate. “Don’t answer that,” he said as Steve moaned, head falling back and hips jerking.

 

                “Bucky,” Steve gasped as Bucky teased a second finger around his hole, and he looked up at Steve through his lashes.

 

                “Want something?” He teased, before pulling his finger out and working two in quickly. Steve’s mouth dropped open, and he moaned, low and loud. His knees shifted apart further, and he ground down again as Bucky tilted his head up, rubbing his nose back and forth against Steve’s perineum.

 

                Bucky curled his fingers, rubbing them over Steve’s sweet spot as he tipped his head slightly, pressing a kiss to one cheek. Steve rocked his hips, and Bucky heard the smack of Steve’s hand as it hit the headboard. Stroking his free hand up Steve’s back, he murmured, “Careful, wouldn’t want to break this one too.”

 

                Steve didn’t say anything, but the way he ground back on Bucky’s face indicated he didn’t really care. Bucky snorted, scissoring his fingers, before he spread them fully, licking between. He kept fingering Steve open, nice and steady, sliding a third finger in when Steve begged for it in a hoarse voice, until Steve lifted up onto his knees with a groan. Bucky moved his hand with Steve, twisting his hand and grinding three fingers hard against Steve’s prostate. Steve shuddered, falling forward and catching himself against the headboard as Bucky did it again, and again, before pulling his fingers out.

 

                “I presume you want something?” He purred, and Steve’s eyes opened, taking a few seconds to focus on Bucky’s face.

 

                “Asshole,” Steve growled, shifting down Bucky’s body as the brunet laughed.

 

                “Nuh uh, your asshole,” he said with a grin, catching Steve’s hips in his hands and sitting up slightly to press his lips to Steve’s jaw. Steve fought a grin, eyes narrowing on him in mock exasperation, which Bucky counted as a win. Steve dropped his chin, twisting to catch Bucky’s mouth with his, and settled over Bucky’s waist, yanking at Bucky’s belt before shoving his pants down to his knees so Bucky could kick them off the rest of the way.

 

                He wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s cock, drawing a groan out of him, and stroked, slow and firm. Eyes closing, Bucky ground his teeth, his own arousal pushing to the forefront as Steve rubbed his thumb under the head of Bucky’s cock. Bucky lowered his hand, still covered with lube, and Steve let go as Bucky stroked himself, covering his dick in the stuff. Steve pushed his hand away impatiently as soon as he was slick, and rocked up to his knees again, before slowly lowering himself down on Bucky’s cock as Bucky wiped his hand on the sheets.

 

                Slick, wet heat was all Bucky knew for a moment, and his hands clutched tight on Steve’s hips as Steve kept working himself down. Bucky’s breath caught, held, as Steve settled fully. He rocked his hips in a circle, adjusting himself, and Bucky had to force himself not to thrust up, not to force Steve to move. This never got old, he never got used to it, every time Steve let him in like this was like he was seeing heaven, and he told Steve that.

 

                “Feel so good Stevie,” he murmured, and Steve rocked his hips down in response, pulling a soft gasp from Bucky. “Always feel so fucking good, take me so well.” Steve planted a hand on Bucky’s chest, pushing him flat again, then leaned down, kissing him hard. Bucky opened for him, twisting his tongue against Steve’s before closing his teeth around Steve’s lower lip. He tugged lightly, and Steve pulled back, lips kiss-swollen and parted as he panted. One of Steve’s hands planted heavily against Bucky’s shoulder, sliding slightly over the metal before he caught himself. He rubbed his thumb over the join of metal and skin, a subconscious move, before he planted his weight on his knees and lifted himself up.

 

                The sight of Steve pulling up and off him again had Bucky moaning softly, left hand clasping carefully over Steve’s hip. Steve paused, and Bucky had to resist fucking up into him, mouth falling open slightly as Steve met his gaze. “Baby,” Bucky breathed, and Steve shivered, sinking back down slowly. With each roll of Steve’s hips he sped up, until Steve was whining under his breath each time he dropped down, and Bucky’s fingers were tight on Steve’s hips. He urged him on faster still, pulling Steve back down as soon as he pulled up. Steve shuddered, clenching around Bucky’s cock, and ground his hips in a circle, making Bucky moan. Steve clenched again, started to lean back, but Bucky shook his head slightly, panting. He knew he was close, knew Steve was too, wanted to drag it out, wanted to make this last.

 

                Bucky slid his hands up Steve’s sides, around to his back, tracing each rib carefully as Steve held still, head bowing forward at the touch. “No rush Stevie,” Bucky purred, and tugged Steve forward until their chests touched. Steve gasped at the change in angle, and Bucky couldn’t help but hitch his hips up, just to see Steve’s face. It didn’t disappoint, Steve’s nose scrunching up and his mouth falling open, a shaky moan falling from his lips.

 

                While Steve was distracted, Bucky rolled them, hands on Steve’s back keeping him close until he hit the mattress. Planting his knees, Bucky reached down with one hand, urging one of Steve’s legs up to hook over his waist. Then he leaned back a little, holding Steve still just with his weight as he ran a hand down Steve’s chest. He rubbed a thumb over one of Steve’s nipples lightly, making Steve shiver, then pinched the nub firmly. Steve arched under him, other leg wrapping around Bucky to pull him in tighter. Bucky took the hint, ground his hips in and down without drawing back, and tugged lightly on Steve’s nipple as he did. Steve whimpered, the broken little noise accompanied by Steve’s fingernails digging little crescents into Bucky’s shoulders.

 

                “Bucky,” Steve whined, back arching up, and Bucky flexed his hips again. Steve’s cock jerked between them, and Bucky grinned, moving his hands to the bed and pushing himself up. He looked down between them, to where Steve was hard and leaking, and cooed softly, pressing a soft kiss to Steve’s collar.

 

                “So hard Stevie, you like this?” He teased softly, knowing full well that Steve did, and Steve moaned his name, clenching muscles tight around Bucky’s cock in response. “Shit, baby, Steve,” Bucky murmured, shifting his left hand until he could support his weight entirely on it, freeing his right. Running a hand down Steve’s side, Bucky took a deep breath, then another, focusing on the soft skin under his fingers, rather than the wet heat around his dick. Steve’s faint laugh was as smug as it was strained, and Bucky leaned his head forward, nipped Steve’s chin in retaliation.

 

                Confident that he had himself under control again, Bucky drew his hips back, pausing a moment as Steve shivered, then sunk back in, nice and slow. He kept it that way, almost leisurely, fucking Steve deep and slow as he pressed kisses over Steve’s jaw, down his throat. It took a little bit of effort, but he managed to get his mouth down to Steve’s nipples, licking one before sucking on it firmly, rolling it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth. “Pretty,” he murmured, knowing exactly how sensitive Steve was there, and he was rewarded as he elaborated, “Pretty tits.”

 

                One of Steve’s hands slid up the back of Bucky’s neck, into his hair, and tugged before pushing Bucky back against his chest. Bucky laughed softly, then kissed Steve’s pec, nipping the firm muscle lightly before wrapping his lips around Steve’s nipple again. Steve moaned, pressing his chest up into Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky slowed the press of his hips, thrusting in short, sharp movements, barely pulling out before sinking back in.

 

                “Fuck me,” Steve whined, hips rocking up against Bucky’s, and Bucky grinned, teeth pressing against Steve’s skin.

 

                “I am,” he murmured, punctuated his words with a solid thrust.

 

                “Properly,” Steve retorted, heel digging into Bucky’s ass.

 

                Bucky sat back, careful not to pull out fully, and hooked his hands under Steve’s ass. He lifted up, rocked forward at the same time, pressing in at a new angle. Steve’s whole body jerked as the head of Bucky’s cock hit his prostate dead on, and Bucky grinned. He hooked his arm under one of Steve’s legs, lifted it up over his shoulder to keep Steve there. He kissed the inside of Steve’s knee, smiling as Steve’s thigh twitched, then drew his hips back until just the head of his cock rested inside Steve. Then he waited.

 

                Steve tensed, expectant, then whined, wiggling his hips as much as he could in his position. His fingers tightened in Bucky’s hair, and he tugged hard. Bucky still didn’t move, grin in place as he raised an eyebrow at Steve. Steve wriggled again, dug his heel into Bucky’s shoulder, and clenched around him, and Bucky gasped softly, but still didn’t move. “Not fucking you properly am I?” Bucky purred, and Steve froze, eyes lifting to meet Bucky’s. There was still a grin on Bucky’s face, but he raised an eyebrow, watched Steve swallow, hard. “What are you gonna do now?”

 

                Steve was quiet for a moment, completely still, then tipped his head back, looking up at Bucky. He dragged his lower lip through his teeth, then breathed, “Please, Buck. I need it, need you. _Please_.”

 

                The last word was more of a whine, and Bucky’s hips flexed instinctively. God, it was hard enough holding still without Steve looking at him like that, begging like that- Bucky didn’t even think, just drove himself home again, and again. The first thrust made Steve moan, the second cut the noise short.

 

                Then there was nothing but the soft whines falling from Steve’s lips, the mindless praise whispered against Steve’s skin. The rhythmic slap of Bucky’s skin against Steve’s, the dull thud of the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust. Bucky could feel Steve starting to tighten around him, tension building in the leg over Bucky’s shoulder, Steve’s cock leaking over his straining stomach. He grinned as Steve started to babble, head rocked back against the pillow, half words and aborted sentences falling from his lips.

 

                “Buck- Please more- Fuck you’re so- It’s so-” Bucky was sure Steve didn’t know what he was saying, nuzzled his lips against the inside of Steve’s knee as he reached his free hand down. Metal closed over hard flesh as he cupped Steve’s cock, making him jerk, before wrapping his fingers around Steve, stroking. The first slow stroke, out of time to Bucky’s hips, had Steve moaning out, “ _Fuck_.” The second, a little faster, got a “Bu- _ah_ -Bucky I’m gonna- _Buck_.”

 

                Bucky rolled his thumb under the head of Steve’s cock, then up through the precome to press lightly against the slit. Steve jerked, whole body tensing up, strangled little whine falling from his lips. Then, just as Bucky ground himself in deep, whatever was holding Steve together cracked. His nails dug into Bucky’s shoulders, dragging over skin and catching over metal, and his free leg wrapped tight around Bucky’s thigh, locking him in place as if there was any risk of Bucky pulling back now. With a hoarse moan that was more a collection of sounds than any word in particular, Steve came, cock pulsing in Bucky’s hand. Streaks of white covered Steve’s chest, his whole body shaking, and Bucky groaned, lower lip caught between his teeth.

 

                “God, _Steve_ ,” he moaned, giving into instinct. His thrusts turned short and fast, hips rolling against Steve’s as he stroked Steve through it. “Makin’ a fucking mess of yourself Steve, _fuck_ that’s hot,” Bucky continued, and Steve whined high in his throat, trembling as he started to come down from his high.

 

                “Want you to come,” Steve slurred, hips rocking down as Bucky thrust in. “Want you to come in me.”

 

                Bucky let go of Steve’s cock with one last stroke that had Steve whining. He planted both hands on the mattress next to Steve’s shoulders, and Steve’s hands stroked up Bucky’s shoulders, threading into his hair. Steve pulled him in and Bucky groaned against his lips, whispering Steve’s name as he did just that. Bucky shuddered, eyes slamming closed as pleasure jolted up his spine, spread through him as his hips jerked, and he filled his baby up just like Steve wanted.

 

                Steve’s mouth kept moving against his, slow, drugging kisses that Bucky moaned into. Steve’s hands tugged at his hair once, twice, before smoothing down his back, stroking down the dip of Bucky’s spine. Bucky let his weight settle against Steve, lowering himself from his hands to his elbows, letting Steve’s leg slide off his shoulder. After long minutes of panting into each other’s mouths, kissing each other like it was as important as the air they breathed, Bucky’s brain started to come back online.

 

                “Steve,” he murmured against Steve’s lips, nipping the lower before pressing kisses along Steve’s jaw. Each light press had Steve’ shivering, his head tilting back more and more as Bucky moved along, then down the curve of his neck.

 

                He tongued at the racing pulse in Steve’s throat, making Steve shiver under him, and his lips curved into a smile. Steve made a demanding noise, and Bucky worked his way back up, pressing their lips together in a soft kiss. “Steve,” he repeated, and Steve’s eyes fluttered open. He smiled up at Bucky, looking somewhat dazed, and Bucky touched their noses together in an affectionate gesture.

 

                “All mine now,” he murmured, and Steve shivered at the implication, arms sliding back up to wrap around Bucky’s shoulders. “I love you,” Bucky continued, and Steve smiled, wide and tired and bright like the sun. “I love you,” he repeated, kissing Steve’s smiling lips, warm hand cupping Steve’s jaw as he ran his thumb over the blond’s chin.

 

                Steve pulled Bucky in tight, kissing him again and again, hands splaying over damp skin. “Love you back,” he whispered, and Bucky smiled, dragging his hand up through Steve’s hair, pushing it off Steve’s forehead and running his fingers through the strands.

 

                He pressed another soft kiss to Steve’s lips, rubbing the edge of stubble over Steve’s jaw, grinning as Steve squirmed underneath him, only for them both to freeze, an over sensitive whine caught in Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s hands moved to Steve’s hips, and he slowly eased out of Steve, pressing soft kisses to his jaw and cheeks and lips at the noise of discomfort. He couldn’t help but reach down, slide his fingers over the rim of Steve’s hole, puffy and red. He was leaking, lube and come mixing and sliding out of him, and Bucky ran his fingers through the mess, pushed it back up and in as Steve whimpered.

 

                “Poor baby,” Bucky murmured, unable to help himself, and Steve scowled at him, chin tucking down against his chest. “Want me to kiss it better?”

 

                Steve slapped his shoulder, shoved him to the side, and Bucky rolled to his back, grinning unrepentantly. “Asshole,” Steve said with a shake of his head, even as he rolled back into Bucky, draping an arm across Bucky’s waist and tucking his face against Bucky’s shoulder.

 

                Bucky reached down again, hitched one of Steve’s legs over his, and Steve grumbled under his breath. When all Bucky did was stroke his hand up from Steve’s tailbone to the nape of his neck, he relaxed, and Bucky pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We should clean up.”

 

                “You’re the one who made me come, so it’s your fault it’s on me. You clean us up,” Steve mumbled, burrowing further into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

 

                “You’re getting it on me right now,” Bucky retorted, not moving an inch, and Steve grumbled under his breath. But, as soon as he made to get up, Bucky was pressing him back onto the sheets, sliding out of bed and padding across the hotel room to the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth and a clean stomach not long after, wiping Steve’s stomach down with the warm material before sliding it between Steve’s legs.

 

                “Next time you’re using a rubber,” Steve mumbled under his breath, flush darkening his skin as he canted his hips up a little. Bucky laughed softly, eventually discarding the cloth to run his finger over Steve’s hole, back and forth. Steve eventually kicked a foot out lightly, knocking Bucky’s arm away, before patting the bed next to him.

 

                “C’mere,” he mumbled, and Bucky obliged, crawling up and pressing himself against Steve. He curled an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulled him in, kissing Steve’s temple lightly.

 

                Catching Steve’s left hand in his right, Bucky lifted it and turned it slightly, letting the gold band across Steve’s ring finger glint in the low light coming from the bedside lamp. He rubbed his finger over it carefully, and Steve tipped his head sideways, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

 

                “Do we get a vacation?” Steve murmured, and Bucky rolled his eyes, laughing softly. “I’m serious, we don’t get anything else,” he continued, twisting the hand in Bucky’s grasp to rest against Bucky’s chest. Steve stroked lightly over his collarbone, before pressing his fingertips right over Bucky’s heart, tapping lightly. “If we can’t get married yet,” Steve murmured, and the words set a shiver down Bucky’s spine.

 

                He interrupted Steve with a soft kiss, brushing his lips over Steve’s with a little smile before murmuring, “Go on,” against his lips.

 

                “If we can’t get married yet,” Steve repeated with a roll of his eyes, but he pressed his lips to Bucky’s lightly between words. “I think we deserve to have our honeymoon first. Whenever we want.”

 

                Bucky smiled, placing his hand over Steve’s and kissing him again, just to see the sappy little smile on Steve’s face. “Honestly,” he murmured, before tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. “Honestly I don’t mind whether we’re working or not. I get to travel the world with my best guy, what more could I ask for?”

 

                Steve’s face softened, and he leaned forward, tipping them until Bucky was on his back. Bucky steadied Steve with a hand on his hip, and sighed happily when Steve’s mouth met his, the kiss long and slow. “Sap,” Steve murmured when their lips parted, and Bucky laughed, bright and happy.

 

                “Don’t you know it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and, well, i hope that was worth the wait

**Author's Note:**

> join me on [tumblr!](http://brickhousebuck.tumblr.com/)


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